Bottle Severus
by JustJeanette
Summary: A wizarding game gets out of hand at 12 Grimmauld Place, when it ensnares two unwitting participants. A story written in two POV's. Read Hermione's POV from LadyOfTheMasque; it is well worth it at ashwinder. Complete. HG/SS pairing
1. Chapter 1

Bottle by JustJeanette

Summary: A wizarding game gets out of hand at 12 Grimmauld Place, when it ensnares two unwitting participants.

Categories: Humour/Parody, Non-Consent, PWP (Plot-What-Plot)

Pairings: Severus/Hermione, other

Author's Notes: Read Hermione's POV from LadyOfTheMasque; it is well worth it to be found on Ashwinder . net.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Bottle_

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had finally been vanquished. Voldemort was dead. The Dark Lord was no more. Tom Riddle was worm-food. Ol' Voldie-butt was permanently pushin' up the proverbial daisies. Snake-Face was fish-food. A fact that would have gladdened the heart of Severus Snape, if he still had one, but after a lifetime spent as a double agent, he honestly doubted his heart still existed; and if it did, like the Grinch, its size would have been a few sizes too small. Still, the rest of the Wizarding World was celebrating and Albus had made it _patently_ clear that Severus was to join in the fun.

'_Fun_,' he hurrumped to himself as he watched from a shadowed corner of Grimmauld Place, '_more like an orgy of drunkenness._' Severus had not voluntarily imbibed spirits for over twenty years, at least not without having taken a detoxification potion before hand; a drunken spy was a dead spy. Just because Snake face was no more was not sufficent reason to change a survival habit of many years; after all the place was full of people, way too many people for a man who was likely to be listed on any surviving Death Eaters' to-do lists as '_Task 1: Kill Severus Snape_'.

Looking around, he noted—as expected—that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Pain-In-Arse was the centre of attention. Severus hadn't seen so much boot kissing since the last Death Eater Revel; now there was a comparison very few would like to have had made public. Add in the various members of the Order of the Phoenix, their partners and family, Ministry Officials, their hangers on, and the entire Seventh Year Gryffindor cohort plus a contingent of their friends, and you had a building full of too much cheer and definitely too little brains. '_Funny_,' Severus thought to himself, '_the promised accolades weren't appearing, either._' If the truth was told, everyone had generally noted the attendance of Severus Snape and then promptly decided to ignore the man in the hope that he would go away, and take his wet-blanket with him.

Severus, who normally would have left without a moment's hesitation, was overwhelmed by a stubborn desire to stay and observe the proceedings; maybe he could obtain enough suitable blackmail material to ensure that he never had to attend another of these functions during his lifetime, or any other lifetime for that matter. The various snogfests currently going on, while interesting in a mildly voyeuristic manner, were between already acknowledge couples and unlikely to be of any value on the blackmail market. Still, if the imbibing continued at the current rate Severus was certain he'd have something worthwhile by the evening's end; fickle Fate agreed, but not quite in the way he intended.

Noting a general movement towards separate rooms, Severus took a moment to enjoy the peace that finally descended on the ground floor; now at least his shoulder blades weren't continually itching and he'd been able to move away from the wall. He'd even managed to ignore the intrusion of Gryffindor's only example of intelligent life in the last fifteen years, as Hermione Granger, nose stuck in a book. She appeared from upstairs, where if his suspisions were right she had been chased out of whatever room she had been in so that some lucky couple could copulate, and took refuge in the downstairs parlor.

Severus began to take a more active interest in the goings on in Grimmauld Place when he noted the re-appearance of the drunken Gryffindor cohort that had been that last group to leave the ground floor to make their way upstairs. The group reappeared not long after Miss Granger's appearance, various bottles still in hand; obviously there was no free space upstairs to play their juvenile games.

"Merlin's Balls," Severus snarled to himself after a few moments having noted the elder of the Weasley twins—yes he could tell them apart—had a glowing bottle in hand ready for spin-the-bottle, "just what I need." Long associating with Slytherin house had taught Severus a great many things about the Wizarding version of '_Spin the Bottle_', none of it good. The fact that the game forced participants into acts that they otherwise would not consent to should have made it a '_Dark Arts_' game, but everyone tended to make a joke of it; that is, everyone who hadn't been forced beyond a little '_slap and tickle_'.

The sight of Miss Granger trying to leave the parlor barely a minute later, unsuccessfully, caused Severus' conscience to kick him.

"Damnation," he growled at himself. He should have seen this problem coming; he knew that parlor was so small that no matter where the girl sat, she would have found herself unwittingly caught in the spell's trap. Knowing Miss Granger to be oblivious to the outside world when her nose was firmly planted in a book, it was unlikely she had even noticed the intrusion until it was too late. If he'd acted then he wouldn't have to come to the rescue now. '_Bloody conscience_,' he muttered as he strode over toward the parlor, all the while ignoring that bitter part of him that was asking just why he was going to the rescue. His conscious thought processes were so involved in ignoring that little internal argument that he didn't have time to stop and consider the types of consequences that came from breaking in on a Wizarding Spin-the-bottle game already in progress…until it was too late.

Hearing chanting as he reached the parlor door Severus grabbed hold of the door handle and yanked it so hard that the door nearly fell of its hinges. "—Would you stop that infernal chanting?"

His deep-voiced command froze everyone in place; unfortunately it failed to stop everything in place. The bottle, which obviously had been spun by Miss Granger, was still turning, slowly, inevitability towards some poor fool who would be forced to endure close contact with the Brains of the Golden Trio. Finally it came to rest pointing straight at … Severus.

Severus watched as Miss Granger struggled against the compulsions the spell laid upon her; after all who wouldn't if they were suddenly required to kiss the dreaded bat of the dungeons?

"Miss Granger, what is going on here?" he asked even knowing full well what was going on. Still, he was shocked when the girl actually grabbed him by the ears and pulled his head down to her level.

The press of her lips on his froze him in place, voluntary or otherwise, his lips had not been engaged in this type of spell-enforced action since his days as a teen. That lack, however, shouldn't have accounted for the fact that he let her invasion take place. Her tongue was thoroughly exploring his mouth, flowing over his teeth, teasing his taste buds, caressing his gums. Realizing he was beginning to enjoy this act far more than he ought, Severus reached up and prised her hands from his ears and then bodily pushed her away.

"—Miss Granger! What is the bloody meaning of this?" he thundered at her, his face red from anger and embarrassment.

"I…It's wizarding spin-the-bottle, sir," Miss Granger managed to gasp.

Severus, angry still at the fact that he had actually enjoyed the play of her tongue, released her from his gaze and, with shock draining the blood from his face, lashed out at the closest available target. Her, even through he knew she was probably just as much a victim. "You…you involved _me_ in a bloody game of wizarding spin-the-bottle?"

"I didn't exactly _ask_ to participate in the first place, and if you hadn't been there when the bottle stopped, I might've escaped scott-free! And if you're going to continue to yell at me like that, I hope you have to kiss Neville bloody Longbottom, next!" Granger yelled at him, visibly angry at the game, angry with herself, and very angry with him.

Severus blinked at her, unused as he was to anyone shouting back at him. Recovering his composure he turned away from Miss Granger, and her talented tongue, focusing instead on the rest of the gathering. Ignoring Hermione Granger, and giving her a bit of space to recover, Severus turned his anger towards the gathered fools.

"Of all the misbegotten, stupid, harebrained, puerile pieces of idiocy that I have actually come to expect of the house of the Gryphon and its imbecilic representatives, this one absolutely has to take the prize. By the time I'm finished with you your grandchildren will be sorted into a House still in negative points. That you brainless pieces of mediocrity would engage in a game so closely aligned to the types of Magic Voldemort preferred—during the very celebration of his destruction—only goes to illustrate the total and utter lack of intelligence that has long characterized Gryffindor House. And do not _presume_ to think that, just because half of you are no longer students at Hogwarts, that I will not find a way to punish each and every last one of you _appropriately_ for this reckless little farce! Certainly I will make a note of this evening to _per_s_onally_ deduct one hundred points from each of the Houses present…_per person, student and alumni!_"

He leaned forward at the end of his hissed, vicious threat, making the dunderheads in the circle around him flinch. Severus grasped the bottle, rolled it back and forth for a moment within the cage of his fingers, then set his hand just so. As the others watched, wide-eyed and shocked semi-sober, Severus paused, glanced around the circle, and spun the bottle with a carefully calculated flick. He spoke again as it rattled faintly, spinning over the slightly uneven floorboards.

"_If_ the lot of you are lucky, my expertise in handling bottles will free you all from this asinine foolishness, when this thing points itself directly at me. Which is what it _should_ do, if I've put the proper spin on it. If it does not, the soul who winds up the target of my torment _will_ rue this day…_if_ they survive. Pray to your ancestors, Potter, that it will _not_ point at _you_," he sneered, glancing at the dark-haired young man just past Hermione, watching him blanch at the thought of having to kiss the long-dreaded Potions Master. "I assure you that _you_ will not survive the consequences of your drunken folly!"

The bottle slowed in its revolutions, riveting their attention. Slower…and slower…it rotated. Audible sighs of relief were heard as it spun past the Patil twins, and the youngest Weasley; past Justin Finch-Fletchley and Dean Thomas; Neville Longbottom sighed as well as the bottle past him, but it strangely wasn't in relief. The mouth of the enchanted wine bottle finally pointed towards the Potions Master, and a look of triumph flashed across his otherwise stern countenance; that was until an irregularity in the wooden flooring caused the bottle to rock as it stopped, then roll back a few inches, finally coming to rest pointing at the now stunned Hermione Granger.

Severus, in horror, felt the magic of the bottle take hold; it was only his formidable self control that prevented him from jumping the poor girl as she struggled to break away from the spell's area of influence. The sheer fact that he would have to perform some level of intimacy with the Gryffindor brain did not mean he had to do so publicly; he was damned if he was going to give this load of voyeuristic fools any satisfaction. Reaching down, he snagged up the bottle even as he reached for the fleeing girl. Literally throwing her over his shoulder, he demonstrated easily that, whatever was hidden beneath those voluminous robes, there was a degree of muscle involved.

Sneering, his face set in classic Potions Master disdain, Severus addressed the alcohol-addled crowd.

"I will personally hold down each and every one of you, for a front-row view of all the various, and likely to be highly inventive, hexes Miss Granger will undoubtedly hurl upon the pathetic lot of you; I might even suggest a few of my own, for forcing her to participate, and by doing so, involving myself in these asinine, juvenile activities," he ground out, fighting hard against the magics that were making him want to do all manner of things that were inappropriate to the girl slung over his shoulder; he just hoped he survived whatever Albus and Minerva did to him once they found out about this evenings activities. "I will even offer to provide testimony, if she cares to take your irresponsible behavior to the Wizengamot, to sue for any damages or psychological trauma incurred by our unwilling involvement in such a childish enchantment.

"And I will further punish the lot of you by inviting you to imagine exactly what the two of us will look like when we rip off our clothes and make love to each other like a pair of rabid kneazles in heat, under the forceful influence of this bloody spell…because all of you _deserve_ to suffer for this!"

Whirling away from the room full of dunderheads, Severus stalked through the hallways of Hogwarts; one hand held the spinning bottle, the other balanced a shoulderful of ex-Head Girl. The fact that both hands were full and he was therefore incapable of opening any doors seemed to matter not one bit; a palpable aura of menace surrounded the angered Potion Master, and any and all doors that wished to maintain integrity were almost breaking themselves in their haste to open for the man. He ignored the bobbing and weaving of his passenger as she ducked lintels and doors; his aim was to get to his quarters as fast as humanly possible. Reaching Grimmauld's kitchen, its fireplace burning merrily, he placed the magic bottle on the mantle just long enough to grab a handful of Floo powder and throw it into the fire. "Hogwarts, Potions Master's office!"

Firmly grabbing the magic bottle he stepped into the fireplace, and stepped out of the floo. Quietly, he growled the password that unveiled the door into his quarters; from there, he continued on into the bedroom, kicking the doors shut behind him. Lighting his way with a muttered _Incendio_, he placed the bottle at a point that ensured he and his companion would be within 20 feet of it whether they were on the bed or in the water-closet.

Satisfied, Severus turned and almost threw the startled witch onto his bed. He smiled with amusement as he watched her take in the color scheme. '_…I suspect she was expecting an orgy of green and silver_,' he thought to himself. Still he was surprised at how quickly she took stock of the situation; he could almost see her lustful thoughts as she observed the library, until his own lustful thoughts decided they'd had enough of being ignored.

After checking the nearby rooms for house-elves or any other strays he turned to his unwilling companion and stated blandly, "Now, Miss Granger, about our unwitting geas to have rabid kneazle sex—"

The sight of the girl literally yanking her clothes off as a look of panic danced over her features alerted Severus to the fact that while he might have his baser instincts under control, even if only barely, Miss Granger did not have the same level of control. Rather than disdaining her for this lack—after all his was hard won in the school of tradition of Slytherin with a graduate program with Death Eaters Incorporated—he found himself reaching out to catch her hands and almost as if he were dealing with an injured bird. Severus spoke in a soothing and calm tone that under any other circumstances she might have considered out-of-character.

"Calm down. Stay still, and do not struggle against what we must do. The spell laid upon us is very specific: the more you resist, the more you do not want to do something, the more the spell will force you to do it anyway. Only by seizing the initiative and participating _willingly_ can you hope to control the outcome of each action."

She blinked at him. "You…you've played this game before?"

Not really wanting to go into great, or for that matter any, detail, Severus surprised himself by explaining, "Miss Granger, though the origins have been lost to the proverbial mists of time, wizarding spin-the-bottle is very popular in Slytherin House. I made the mistake of being too near when a game was struck by several of my Housemates, as a young man…and I wound up losing my virginity to Gerald Nottingdon. _Yes_, to another male," he repeated as he moved away from her, flushing as red as Hermione's own cheeks felt. "I assure you, I do _not_ prefer men over women, under normal circumstances."

In point of fact he was thinking that under any circumstances, Gerald Nottingdon had cured him of any interest in sexual relations with men. Having started to explain, however, Severus decided it behooved him to finish; with information came the means of dealing with situations effectively, after all. "But the more I struggled, the more sexual activities I found myself doing, entirely against my will, until we had fulfilled the spell's objective. Which is that both parties must experience an orgasm. Through _penetrative_ activities.

"Of course, if you tell anyone what I have just told you, I will not only deny it, I will make your life a living hell via means worthy of my Death Eater days," he added in cold coldly having realized the extent to which he had opened himself to scorn, and worse yet, pity.

"As if I _would_," Miss Granger spat back. "You really think I want people to know I was magically forced to make love with you?"

Like a slap from Hagrid her words pierced to the centre of his own sense of self worth, of course she wouldn't like that fact touted about; that, after all, was what he'd been informed on numerous occasions by not so numerous amorous partners. "—Make love with Severus Snape? I'd rather be buggered by a hippogriff!" one partner had claimed viciously, rather than admit to having spent the night being lavished with his truly talented tongue. Stepping away from the bureau, he stalked back towards the bed, snarling, "While I realize my reputation precludes most people from thinking I have the same needs as any other human being, I _am_ a male, and I _am_ going to enjoy myself. I, for one, refuse to be a victim of this spell. Been there, done that, as you Muggle-borns like to claim. And before you think you'll be able to scream 'rape' at a later date, because of our enchantment-enforced intimacy…I fully intend to make you _beg_ for your fulfillment. So even under the effects of _Veritaserum_, you will be forced to admit honestly that you _wanted_ it."

"And you?" Miss Granger actually had the gall to ask. "Do you _want_ to make love to me?"

"Do you really think, Miss Granger, that I would actively pursue a relationship with a _Gryffindor?_" Severus growled, not even thinking about the words he used or the secret desire that kept him awake at nights.

Miss Granger's eyes opened wide as she processed his comment; grabbing hold of the one word like a drowning man to a rope, she asked, "Why, Professor—you actually want a _relationship_ with me?"

"Why—I—You—" Severus spluttered as he realized that he'd lost control of the situation; how much control he'd lost was soon fully evident as Miss Granger twisted onto her hands and knees and began to crawl across the bed towards him, somewhat like her house's mascot stalking its supper. The smirk that graced her face would have done any cat proud, Severus thought to himself, though he found the idea he might be the cream a tad disconcerting. Disconcertion however fled as Miss Granger squeezed her arms together, making her already delectable looking mounds into something a starving man would die for.

"What's the matter, Professor? Did you think I would shriek and scream and wail like some shy, retiring virgin? I think you're quite right, now that I'm getting over the shock of our situation. We _must_ seize the day, so to speak." The look that was currently assessing his frock coat was pointed to say the least, the effect also.

"And to be honest—" she continued as he felt himself rise to the occasion, "—I've had fantasies about you that were utterly inappropriate for a student to have for one of her teachers."

Severus, well aware of the just how '_spin-the-bottle_' worked, was for perhaps the first time in his adult life literally at sea; Miss Granger surely could not have been implying what he thought she was implying. The problem was, any attempt to gather his scattered wits was defeated by a combination of the spell's actions and his own hormones, which were now kicking into overdrive. Worse, he felt himself swallowing reflexively as he was hit by a bout of nerves normally only seen in a green youth; as he'd said earlier, he was a man with a man's desires…but Severus Snape was not the sort of person that the universe actually granted their wishes.

He was jarred out of his stupor though when he heard his name spoken aloud; the girl dared address him by his given name. He'd have delivered a scathing torrent of abuse, expect for the fact that she moved in such a way as to catch his hormones' attention, and all thought of vitriol was chased from his mind as he focused on her cleavage. Whatever she was doing to emphasize her attributes, it was working. Just as those parts of him that had been forced into dormancy were starting to perk up, he finally noticed the stance she was seated in. "Would you be displaying such Gryffindor Bravado Miss Granger, were you tied that way?" He asked, velvet over steel.

Any further comments were forestalled as Severus noted the physical evidence of desire that his last comment had elicited. It appeared that Miss Granger was now fighting a losing battle with the spell's compulsions, given that sweet scent that had just reached his discerning nose; that was true ambrosia, and he found himself licking his lips in anticipation of the rich bouquet of flavors it promised. The sight of pert, taut, nipples standing to attention, begging for a gentle caress nearly undid him where he stood. Severus unconsciously stepped forward, wanting to get closer to the bounty on offer.

Too busy noticing the play of her tongue over her lips Severus was thus taken by surprise as she lunged forward and grabbed his frock coat. The light play of her fingertips as she prised button after button open was reminiscent of a small mouse scurrying around in one's pockets; that she was working from the center out amused him. '_I'd have expected greater efficiency_,' he thought to himself. Then thinking stopped completely as she finally laid bare the skin over his stomach. He heard a muttered question about buttons but was unable to answer. The sensation of a soft breeze as she laughed, caressing the skin about his navel, sent some fairly explicit messages to his pleasure centres. Severus had actually been so long absent from the pleasures of the flesh that even this gentle touch was enough to make his genitals quiver.

"Get this ruddy thing off!" Miss Granger finally snarled as she came up against the last of his defense mechanisms; after his experiences with the Marauders, he was never going to be a position where someone else got to control whether he was clothed or not, and some of his buttons were literally enchanted in place, preventing him from being fully disrobed against his will. Severus finally relented and muttered under his breath the cantrips that would release the buttons and allow them to fly free. He rather gracefully accepted her admonishments about their relative states of undress with a quirk of his rather expressive eyebrow. "I don't know," he said in his driest tone, "I see nothing wrong with the current arrangement."

That he was enjoying the view straight through her cleavage line to the lacy pants below might have had something to do with his attitude. Given how he'd felt earlier, the sight of Miss Granger apparently gobsmaked into silence was an image he could see himself to the grave.

"…What, no questions?" he asked with a wry humor as he watched her stare unashamedly at his waistline. Still it brought to his attention one vital fact: the next move was his.

Remembering his earlier promises to make her beg for it, he let his left hand drift slowly towards the waistband of his trousers; with slow, deliberate and precise movements, the sort only a practiced Potions master could demonstrate, he began to undo his trousers buttons. Unlike Miss Granger's approach to his frock coat and shirt, Severus was methodical, savoring the control he held over the impatient young Gryffindor, her eyes literally glued to the slowly unfolding material.

The touch of Miss Granger's lips on his chest and stomach momentarily interrupted him in the task of undoing the fourth button; he stopped to enjoy the feel of tender lips nibbling at his waist. As she started down the centerline of his body, Severus began to undo the rest of the buttons, maintaining the distance between her lips and his hands. He was required to nudge Miss Granger's hands aside so that he could slip his trousers off over his buttocks. Her ministrations meant he was also required to perform a little '_manipulation_' to get his trousers to drop and pool at his ankles. Finally, Severus stood before Miss Granger wearing his opened coats over a pair of many-buttoned boxer shorts, and his boots.

Hermione would have been surprised to find out that Severus knew exactly what Velcro was, and there was no way he was letting anything like that near the hair covering his bits and bobbles. The very though made him wince distracting him momentarily from Miss Granger. A fact she took advantage of: suddenly he found himself flat on his back, staring at the canopy of his own bed, the weight of Miss Granger pressing him down. His gaze sought of the young woman, but before he had a chance to speak he found her lips pressing against his.

He later would like to have said it was the magic that made him opens up to her invasions, but in all honesty his lips moved of their own volition to catch her tongue and draw it into his eager mouth. The flavors he'd tasted only briefly before, he now took the time to savor and characterize: ginger, chocolate, and a sweet after taste of cherry. Severus was a man starving and it was only a lack of oxygen that caused him to break the contact, panting harshly.

When Hermione's lips didn't return to his own but began to nip and nibble at the base of his throat, he was caught up in a haze of pleasure. The haze became a maelstrom as she nibbled and kissed her way around and across his collarbones before grazing on his sternum. When her lips began to move towards his breasts he found his entire body tightening in anticipation. The touch of her tongue as it flicked across the tip of an already straining nipple caused him to let out a low deep moan.

"Hermione," he finally voiced her name, the tone resplendent with desire.

The storm of desire, instead of abating, escalated to a full blown hurricane as Hermione—he couldn't continue to think of her as Miss Granger—moved her attentions to his other nipple. The playful bite had him shuddering beneath her. His breathing becoming more and more ragged as she continued to play with the tender bud, Severus' hands finally broke free of the stasis that had apparently held them in check; he grabbed for her head and found himself trying to force her down his body towards his pants.

Almost mindlessly he whispered the words that would release the buttons on his boxers. He's claimed earlier that she would beg, but it was Severus who was mindless with need. "Please," his voice was rough with desire, "finish it."

The touch of her tongue at the very tip of his being had him crying out in sweet pain, that heart-stopping ache that signaled he was on the brink of cumming. His manhood tightened and it was only his own phenomenal control that stopped him from thrusting his hips up and attempting to impale Hermione's mouth. His control was sorely tested as she licked him a second time, and the feel of her mouth as it descended over the tip actually caused Severus to faint momentarily. The release of his manhood startled him out of his stupor.

"…Hermione?" he asked gently, the tone asking more than just 'are you alright?' In that instant, he ceded control to Hermione; if she were not ready he would hold back.

Severus' question was answered by deed rather than word as Hermione slid off of him to pry him out of his boots. Whilst she was employed removing his trousers, he levered himself up onto his elbows and took a moment to marvel at the girl who was currently kneeling on the floor. Severus stood with all of his serpentine grace until he was fully erect before her and smiled somewhat sardonically as she peered up at him; his vision of her was obscured by his own manhood, which refused to be caged by anything as flimsy as a pair of boxer shorts. Indeed, said shorts sled to the ground as he stood, leaving Severus displayed to the world, though the display was short lived. Hermione, looking like a phoenix from the ashes, rose up on her knees and captured his manhood in her hands…and then in her mouth.

In shock, Severus stood straighter as his chest unconsciously tightened and his arms splayed out beside him. Anyone coming upon the two of them then would have seen a vision not unlike a dark angel; his head was thrown back and his eyes closed as a wave of sheer pleasure washed over him. Rather than falling back onto the bed, Severus brought his hands forward until they grasped the sides of Hermione's head. Whether she wished it or not, he was now past the point of self-control; thrusting forward, he tried to bury himself deeper in the cavern that was Hermione's mouth.

When she didn't draw away but rather grabbed onto him and moved her head forward, drawing him deeper in, he let out a small moan. Nature began to demand an end to the torture, and he began to dance with a rhythm as old as time; his breath became labored, his buttocks were clenching and releasing as they massaged the perineum muscles, his balls felt heavy with seed ready to release. He heard a whimper and realized it was his own voice. Losing all semblance of control, he thrust once more, deeply, penetratingly into the warmth that surrounded him.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione. Don't stop!" he cried as he shuddered, feeling the spurts of semen that shot up though his penis.

And she listened, unfortunately. A sensation, almost like Crucio, swept through him as she suckled for a third time, drawing out the final dregs of his seed. He cried out, the sound half way between a moan and a scream as pleasure and pain warred for ascendancy. He felt sparkles forming behind his eyes, and as he was almost blinded by the sensations, he collapsed back onto the bed, the very picture of the dead: she had slaughtered him with the _petite-morte_.

After an unknown time, Severus woke, though the phrase implied a quicker transition to consciousness than he actually achieved. What woke him was the sound of running water emanating from the bathroom; it appeared Miss Granger had retreated to the other room rather than face him. Not surprising really considering the circumstances. He also noticed the lack of compulsion upon him to chase after the girl and attempt further bouts of rabid kneazel sex. What he couldn't quite fathom was the rush of territoriality that washed over him, he'd marked her in his mind, and for some obscure reason he felt the need to keep her. The problem was that he was rather afraid that if she were released from the compulsions that still held her, she would likely run screaming from his quarters before Apparating to Pago Pago as soon as she was off the school grounds.

"…I'm going to kill those morons," he muttered under his breath. He'd just experienced a most mind blowing orgasm, the type he hadn't had in so long that he wasn't even sure if he'd _ever_ had one this good, and he was unlikely to get another one again if fickle Fate behaved in her usual manner. His Slytherin mind kicked into gear; yes, he had to release her from the remainder of the spell, but if he did it the right way… He'd sworn he was going to make her beg, and he would. Just as soon as he could stand.

He was given no more time to ponder the problem; Hermione Granger stalked out of the bathroom, still clad in her underwear, and looking for all the world like a Valkyre on the war path. Until she reached the edge of the bed. She blushed slightly as she moderated her expression, and more or less ordered Severus to reciprocate in a feminine growl; at least she was polite about it.

Raising his eyebrow at her, the Potions Master allowed his eyes to wander appreciatively over her barely-clad form before fixing his gaze on her knickers. "Those will have to go, you realize?"

She appeared to agree readily as she quickly hooked her fingers into the waistband of the pair of rather gorgeous, and remarkably sexy, silvery-grey knickers she was wearing. He watched in appreciation as she bent forward, allowing him a delicious view down the line of her cleavage in its matching pale grey bra. Hermione began to draw her panties off, then she stopped and blushed from the tip of her pert nose all the way over her face, and down into her neck and cleavage. For a man used to Slytherins and their reactions when caught out with a secret, her reaction was as subtle as Albus Dumbledore-in other words, not at all. Severus was rather curious; what sort of secret did the brain of Gryffindor have?

"Why Miss Granger," he asked blandly as he leant to the side slightly, as though to gain a better view of her rear, "what ever is the matter?"

She looked rather delightful, he decided as he casually observed the deer-in-wand-light look on her face. Delightful that is until his brain, which was rather taxed at the moment, kicked into gear. His eyes dropped to his left arm where he still bore the mark of his regrettable, youthful rebellion. If he had something embarrassing on his body, so might she. He wondered what hers was. He was so caught up in the mystery that he missed the sight of Miss Granger removing her brassiere; instead his mind chased a solution to the puzzle presented him. Logic would presume it to be a tattoo of some sort; muggle females, at least those he had observed being held for various torments at various Dark Revels, tended to place a tattoos on the bum or shoulder. Perhaps it was something like that. What ever it was, it was obvious that she did not want him to see it.

"Surely you have not been so foolish as to proclaim your undying love of Mr. Weasley upon your derriere?" he asked in a tone calculated to cause her to react. He didn't think she loved the ruddy, freckled git—who could?—but he did intend to provoke a response.

Her reaction was all that he could have asked for. "No, I would never be so foolish as to proclaim some sort of undying love for Ronald. He has never satisfied me on any level other than platonic friendship…and I should know. I stupidly dated him for three weeks, well over a year ago."

She said it in a cool, calm way; her very tone declared loudly that she had something embarrassing decorating her rear end. That, and the way she was attempting to subtly edge around the bed towards where her clothes—and wand—were. He watched her silently as she moved around the bed almost to the other side. As he predicted, when she reached the point near where her garments were, she turned and lunged for them…but she was caught short due to the spell's radius-rules. Her discarded garments were just beyond the twenty-foot-range. Taking advantage of the fact that she now faced away from him, Severus lunged across the bed, snagged her panties at the waistband, and allowed the laws of physics to do the rest.

Her panties came down easily, displaying a well-formed rump. The size was just right; the pair of buttocks were nicely balanced in size, luscious in their curvature, the writing eerily familiar… _The WRITING?_

_Your Dungeon or Mine?_

His writing! _His_ writing on Hermione the-know-it-all Grangers buttocks. That message, in his writing on Miss Granger's arse! That message, that tattoo was not new; it hadn't been new when Moldie-Voldie had fallen just last week, it probably hadn't been new when the winter had set in, it had only probably been new at the start of the scholastic year—he knew she hadn't left the castle over the winter and spring school holidays, and there were no tattooist shops in Hogsmeade for her to have visited. Miss Hermione the-know-it-all Granger had therefore spent the last year with _that_ tattooed upon her rear. The whole message that tattoo sent confused him; so much so that he could have sworn his heart had stopped beating. But his heart hadn't stopped, in fact it was beating faster than it ever had; she could be his!

Taking advantage of the fact that Miss Granger was still straining to reach her jeans, a vain endeavor now that her secret had been...revealed, Severus began to firmly draw her back towards the bed. Raising himself up as he did so, until he sat almost yoga style on his knees, he pulled her close enough for him to snake his left arm around her waist, drawing her bodily up onto the bed and into his lap. There he held her with her back in contact with his chest.

"Miss Granger," he whispered seductively into her ear, "it seems it is to be my dungeon, tonight."

As he released the hold he had on her panties, freeing his right hand, he noted with pleasure the way she shivered slightly in his arms as he'd whispered in her ear. Knowing the lobe, and the area of skin behind it, to be extremely sensitive, he pressed a light kiss to her skin while he let himself purr her name again; a low, deep, rumbling purr that rolled over the r's in her moniker. Nipping gently, he continued his assault on her senses, as he let his left thumb draw lazy circles over her belly. She'd demanded reciprocation, but it was going to be on his terms.

Deciding that there was more to graze on than just her earlobe Severus began to work his way slowly, very slowly, down the line of her neck, across the line of her shoulder then down to the tips of her shoulder blades. His hands, with those long, flexible, and talented fingers, also began to enter more fully into the game of seduction. His left hand continued its lazy movements of his thumb whilst his right hand moved to caress her waistline, journeying around to join his other hand resting on her belly; both hands then moved in tandem, traveling up over her ribs until his palms gently cupped her breasts.

Severus smiled into her shoulder at the quick intake of breathe as his elegant pointer fingers slid up the underside of her breasts. They travelled to her areolas, which began to pucker; from there he traced his nails around the tightening surface; around and around, he traced his fingers, until he was satisfied that Miss Granger was sufficiently aroused. Only then did he let those fingers touch her nipples, and only as a quick flick, stimulating a soft sound from deep in her throat.

"…I take it you like, Miss Granger?" he breathed the question into her shoulder blade.

Noticing the boneless way Miss Granger was beginning to slump against hi, Severus turned himself slightly to one side and drew Hermione more fully onto his bed. With the care he generally showed when handling the most delicate of potions ingredients, he laid the almost boneless girl down across the foot of his bed. Lying on his side, he raised himself up slightly, using his right elbow to support his head.

"Shall I continue, Miss Granger?" he asked with a gentle smile, though he began to trail the fingers of his left hand up the inside of her thigh before she even had a chance to respond.

Her reactions, so primal, were driving parts of him that he thought had atrophied. The sight of her laying there, her breast like mounds of jelly pointing skyward, the areolas distended, the nipples pert, had him unconsciously licking his lips as he thought of how they'd taste, of how she'd react. Her growled response to call her 'Hermione' went through him like a rogue Bludger. Clamping down hard on a need to ravish the girl, Severus forced his hand to travel slowly up the line of her thigh towards the crease dividing torso and leg; here, he exhibited the restraint of a skilled lover, rather than diving for her secret depths as a young, more inexperience man might—at this thought, he found himself growling deeply at the thought of the fumbling touches she must have endured from those fools that though themselves men, such as Potter and Weasley. Severus let his fingers rest only at her mound, cupping it for a moment before they continued to trace the line of her panties to her waist.

Severus snickered at the cascade of expressions that were dancing across Miss Granger—no, Hermione's face. She was such a novice at this, the art of seduction, that she was almost telecasting her very thoughts. '_She thinks I'm a bastard does she_?' he thought as he heard a soft whisper to that effect.

"I'll have you know Hermione," he said in a low, deep growl stretching her name out, "my parents _were_ unhappily married when I was born." Then, as if to prove her point, he allowed himself to snicker, a little more loudly than before. A deep snicker, this one filled with promises.

She whimpered, and he hadn't even started yet; the feeling of holding such power over her was euphoric and drove him to consider new ways to heighten her senses. Learning forward he bought his head down to the curve of her hip and nipped at the skin just above the waistline of her knickers, before he gently inserted his nose under the silk and began to nuzzle. The scent was almost overpowering at this distance, whether it was as a result of the spell or his ministrations, Hermione Granger was definitely aroused. His tongue touched her skin as he licked his lips in anticipation of drinking at the well of ambrosia that he knew awaited him.

Hearing her breath hitch, Severus continued to nuzzle, but now he nuzzled with a purpose. His lips, having tasted the sweat already pooling on her soft flesh, began to kiss their way back down her bikini line; he breathed out carefully, deliberately, exhaling through his nostrils and sending little burst of air across her mons. Continuing to nuzzle, he soon felt the short, tough hairs that guarded her partly shaved pubes tickle his nostrils; he was getting closer to Nirvana. Rather than removing her knickers, he lifted his head slightly, nose nudging the fabric up nd over, causing the crotch of her panties to fall to one side. Finally, he could see the slick, dew-covered lips of her labia, parted from the sprawl of her thighs, exposing the cleft of her vulval region. His tongue darted for the clitoral hood just visible between her lower lips; a single lick was all he allowed himself before lifting his eyes to study Hermione.

Her reaction was magnificent; he saw the shuddering breath she drew, he felt he legs tighten involuntarily about him, he saw all the earmarks of lost of control; she was on the brink and it would only take the slightest touches to push her over. Taking pity on the girl Severus again turned his attention to her sex, particularly to her clitoris. He let his tongue wander languidly back and over the surface, while he rubbed his nose into her mound.

"More?" he asked.

At her demand of "Eat me!", he was happy to oblige. Diving back into the slick, scented folds of her inner core, Severus went to work feasting on the dew she had offered. His tongue lavished attention on her clitoris before he move his head downward to lick at the entrance to her. His fingers joined him in the quest to break the Gryffindor lioness, first his pointer finger, that long, magical digit that had done such wondrous things to her breasts, traveled up the seam of land from her perineum to the base of her vagina; once there he gently inserted it into the moist opening, teasing its way in through the soft, wet folds until he felt the rougher skin on the inside. With the skill Harry displayed finding the snitch, Severus sought her G-spot, that mythical spot that would grant him complete control over her. As soon as he located it, he flicked it, he teased, and he played it like a virtuoso, enjoying the feel of her as she tried valiantly to still the effects of his invasion.

He bought a second finger to her, pressing it in beside the first while his other hand sought out the clitoris that was trying to hide deep in its hood. the tightness of her surprised him; he could have sworn that the fumbling fool Weasley would have tried to get into her pants long before now. After all, his elder brothers had all been randy little sots. Taking note that she probably was a virgin, Severus slowed his attack; with car, he began to slowly, gently, yet almost mechanically thrust his fingers into her, all the while lapping up the sweet juices that were flowing out.

As she began to buck and writhe under the onslaught of his ministrations, he rolled slightly and moved to bring his left knee in beside her neck; from this angle he was able to press part of his body onto hers, trapping her partially beneath him. As her movements grew move violent, her hips rising to meet the thrust of his fingers, he used more of his weight to hold her down. Severus continued the onslaught; changing the rhythm of his thrusts, he shifted his head to bring his tongue closer to the edge of her vagina so that he could taste her on his fingers as they withdrew from her tight depths. Each stroke was making her buck and writhe more; sensing she was on the verge, he thrust once more, deeply, penertratively into her…and was rewarded by screams of pleasure.

The moment after she began to scream, he eased off; the spell was broken, and as much as he'd have like to continue—Hermione's reactions being all that an affection-starved man could ask for—his own sense of honour would not permit him to take any further advantage of the situation. Instead, he eased his weight off of her, allowing her full and free movement; movement he fully expected to include bolting for the bathroom and locking herself inside until she turned one hundred. What he didn't expect was laughter. As the sound reached his ears, memories of other Gryffindors laughing at him surfaced and he stiffed, wrapping about himself that cold cloak of disdain that had kept him free of emotional entanglements for the last decade.

"Just WHAT do you think you are about Miss Granger?" He asked through gritted teeth, his tone the very essence of Severus Snape, Potions Master and Gryffindor-hating bastard; his bullocks might enjoy another tumble in the hay, but he was not about to weaken. His body rigid with anger, he pushed the girl away even as she tried to fasten herself back upon his loins.

He started to turn away, but was checked by her query, "What's wrong?"

Turning back to face Miss Granger, his emotions now tightly under his control, he was struck by the look of confusion on her face. "I'll tell you what's wrong," he started to say angrily but he tone softened when he saw her flich as though struck, "I have been the butt of enough Gryffindor jokes to last a lifetime, Miss Granger. I do not care to add to the tally. You might have found my ministrations amusing; I, however did not."

He expeceted angry denials, or various tried-and-true platitudes. What he got was something completely different. He heard her saying, "I'm sorry if my happiness and joy offended you. I-I realize I probably wasn't what you're accustomed to, being a…being inexperienced. I apologize for thinking you wanted to continue. I'll, erm…I'll just gather my things and go."

But he couldn't understand what she was saying. Did her statement really imply that she had _wanted_ to continue, voluntarily?

For perhaps the first time in his adult life Severus Snape was confronted with a situtation for which his past experiences gave him no clue how to react. Severus was so thoroughly stumped that he actually paid no attention to his surrounds, so much so that Lucius could have Apparated in and hexed him and he probably wouldn't have noticed. In fact his attention was so caught up in trying to decide if Miss Granger meant what she said that he didn't notice Hermione quietly gather her clothes, until she was actually walking towards the door of the bathroom; from where he sat he could just make out the slight quiver of he bottom lip, indicating she was on the verge of tears.

"Oh hell," he snarled at himself as he realised he had totally misread Miss Granger's reactions. "Hermione!" he yelled as he lunged off the bed towards her, hoping against hope that she'd at least pause. Once she entered that bathroom and shut that door, she probably would indeed lock herself in there for a hundred years. In his flight he totally forgot about the bottle still sitting quiescent on the bedside table…

"—Morgana's Tits!" he exclaimed as he felt his elbow clip the blasted bottle on the nightstand, the same blasted bottle that had started this farce in the first place. He watched in horror as it toppled sideways and fell to the floor while he was still scrambling off the bed, dreading where the bottle would point. For somewhere it _would_ point: the bloody thing was enchanted to always point to someone.

He watched the mouth and narrow neck as it turned and slid past him. He continued to watch, as it continued to turn, gliding past Hermione. He stared at it, willing it to keep revolving, to go past him and point again at the girl who was trying to escape, so that he'd have a spell-guaranteed chance to explain. Fickle Fate, however, was not so kind and the bottle slowly came to a rest pointing at his toes.

He looked at his feet; they looked back up at him, naked and vulnerable. Raising his eyes, he caught her glancing at him, too. He saw something in Hermione's eyes that he didn't want to lose, but how to keep the bird? He knew Muggles had this stupid saying about if you love something you had to let it go, but he was Slytherin to the core; letting something go on the off-chance it might come back was fraught with danger, but then if he let her go, without any sign that he wanted her to stay, he was certain she'd never come back. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes for a moment, then leapt off the preverbal cliff.

"It seems Hermione that you are free to go." He said it gently, then added, "Though I wish…"

Here his courage failed him; of course she wouldn't stay. He ducked his head so that she wouldn't be able to see the naked longing that he knew was in his eyes, and he listened for the footfalls that must surely come as she turned and walked out of his life. They didn't come.

"…Do-over?" He heard her say as her petite toe came into his lowered line of view and touched the bottle.

His left foot, of its own volition, moved to touch the top of the bottle. Stopping the movement of his foot before it could actually touch the glass, Severus looked up into Hermione's eyes and waited. When she didn't draw away, didn't retreat back into the safety of the bathroom, he crouched down and placed his fingers atop the bottle. His toes couldn't control the spin, but his hand could. This was a spin the Potions Master knew he didn't want to leave up to fickle Fate. He looked up at her one last time, trying to gauge her reaction. Breathless with anticipation, if he was any judge. Lifting his eyebrow, he allowed a sardonic grin to cross his features.

"Your dungeon, this time?" he asked as he set the bottle spinning…


	2. Chapter 2

Bottled by JustJeanette

Summary: A wizarding game gets out of hand at 12 Grimmauld Place, when it ensnares two unwitting participants.

Categories: Humour/Parody, Non-Consent, PWP (Plot-What-Plot)

Pairings: Severus/Hermione, other

Author's Notes: Read Hermione's POV from LadyOfTheMasque; it is well worth it to be found on Ashwinder . net.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Bottled**

The bottle spun. Once, twice, three times until slowly it came to rest pointing exactly where he wanted it to point; at Hermione's delightful toes. Lunging up from the crouched position he'd maintained whilst the bottle had spun, Severus was pleased to note the rising color that danced across Hermione's face; the pleasure manifestly increased as her clothing dropped to the floor.

Wisely, he didn't resist the pull of her hands as she brought his face closer to hers, sensibly he didn't wince as their noses spent a moment in intimate fumbling before heads tilted appropriately to accommodate the protrusions. Instead he gave himself over to the embrace. He nibbled at her lips, he sent his tongue questing in at the first sign of acquiescence and one hand traveled slowly down her back, her gloriously naked back, to snag at the top of those knickers, the soft silk sliding over his hand as he moved to caress her rump. "Perfect," he sighed as the kiss deepened as the magic drew them together then gently released them as its purpose had been fulfilled.

As Hermione stepped back, blushing as his long fingers caressed the underside of her breast before they glided up to tease at her nipples, he moved to follow. The magic might have been satisfied, but having tasted the fruit, he hungered for more. Severus felt his eyes glazing over with undisguised lust as she bobbed down to spin the bottle again; the view this action afforded him coupled with the nearness of her face to his rampant flesh was almost too much for any sane wizard to bear.

The bottle spun again.

Once, twice…thrice…four times…the mouth traveled past his feet, wobbled a little further…and stopped while pointing at her.

"Damn!" Severus heard Hermione swear. He hoped, because the bottle had effectively removed any compulsion to continue to snogging her former Professor; maybe there was hope after all.

"If you were still my student, I'd take points off for swearing in front of a teacher," Severus said in his class room voice, "Unfortunately, the lot of you were already on the train home when the final attack came, so the point is moot." He smiled wickedly as she looked askance at him, the slight frown told its own story; he hadn't lost his touch. "Still, all things considered, I am rather grateful that you are no longer bound to me in a student-teacher role."

Looking down at the still bottle, the pain on his face hidden by the long, lank, locks of hair, Severus sighed as he headed towards a pity party. "You are free from all compulsions, now."

The pity party was spectacularly door busted by a cheerful, "Well, it's a good thing my parents are off at a dentistry convention; otherwise it would be rather awkward dragging you back to 'my dungeon' for the rest of the night." He almost gave himself whiplash as he looked up at her, his face flustered. He could not have heard what he thought he'd heard. But he must have, since he watched her self-consciously shift her stance, attempting to cover her breasts before realizing that her arms weren't up to the task. The Gryffindor in her must have come to the rescue as she suddenly stood tall, hands on hips said, "Er…if you're interested, that is?"

Interested… was he interested! He almost came at the thought. Before he could effectively formulate a reply that would imply that he was interested, but not desperate, he was saved from embarrassment by her further commenting, "I mean, we could just stay here, but if I'm to have a fresh change of clothes, my trunk is back at Headquarters…"

The reminder of Headquarters, and the party which had started this whole (delightful, though he wouldn't admit it out loud) fiasco, brought to mind the promised revenge. "You do realize, Hermione," he said her name gently, acknowledging her as an adult, "that there is a collection of synaptically-challenged bodies at Grimmauld Place that are in need of suitable punishment for placing us in this situation, enjoyable though it has been."

Severus watched warily as Hermione's face darkened and she commented, "Suitably sadistic, I hope." His lack of 'self-esteem' quickly reared his head at that but was smacked down when she continued, "I've enjoyed it, too, but they're casually playing around with something far too dangerous, and they need to know there are serious repercussions for this spell: very, very serious repercussions." Severus took a step back at the expression of sheer malice that briefly crossed her enchanting visage. "The question is…what sort of repercussions should we inflict upon them? I mean, we could just stay here, but if I'm to have a fresh change of clothes in the morning, my trunk is back at Headquarters…"

Severus accepted the implied assumption that he would know of a suitable 'repercussions' to inflict. He was, after all, a Slytherin. Never forgive, never forget, and revenge is always suited to the circumstances. He was, of course, also well versed in the dark arts and other less than bright and shiny uses of magic. "There is a potion that could be modified to suit our needs," he said. "It is a variant on one of the self-indulgent group of potions, ones that allow the imbiber to imagine that they are involved sexually with the object of their desire."

When Hermione commented somewhat dubiously, "...Do we really want to give them as pleasant an experience as that?" Severus let his face light into its most evil smirk.

"Of course not, but if it were to be 'twisted' ever so subtly, it could be used to bring forth the physical manifestations of such intimate acts with a 'less' than ideal partner; such as Argus Filch."

"You mean...Harry would dream about getting it on with a man?" Hermione asked him.

"I take it our little celebrity is straight then?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Then he would not imagine himself with a man, that sort of punishment is far too déclassé. No my dear, the Brat-Whose-Arse-Shall-Be-Kissed will imagine himself with someone of his preferred gender orientation, just the single, last, living being on the planet that he would ever consider having relations with." Severus enjoyed the look of feral pleasure that crossed Hermione's face as he explained the sheer brilliance of the proposed potion. Smirking, he continued, "and even better, if we are careful enough with our brewing, the potion and its charms component can be made to require a certain level of 'activity' before it wears off."

When Hermione gasped, "You mean...Harry could end up imagining the best sex of his life with...with Dolores Umbridge?"

Severus allowed himself an evil chuckle before answering in the affirmative; the look on her face would have done Salazar himself proud. She instantly understood the beauty and subtly of what he proposed. He thought of some nice potions to immerse the Sorting Hat in. Gryffindor, indeed! No one had ever been able to follow his mind like that before, at least not without a locator spell; detailed instructions and failing that, being handed the Holy Grail. The fact that she had grasped the essentials of his plan so quickly had him gasping for air, "Oh, god, I love you." He blurted out simultaneously with Hermione's declaration.

Oh.

My.

God.

She said it at the exact same time he did!

Any possibility of mortification was washed away within a fraction of a second when he realized that singular, astonishing fact. She had said it, too!

Severus watched, singularly amused, as Hermione's face blushed in the same manner he was certain his own face was currently behaving. "I am pleased to see, Hermione, that you are truly as brilliant as advertised. I suspect that together we will be able to do 'great things', including terrible retribution, with our combined skills." He smiled the smile that was the epitome of House Slytherin.

"And I am pleased to see that the mind I've admired all these years is still in top form, even if there isn't a war anymore to keep it at its sharpest." Hermione replied as she contemplated the skill with which he had taken the conversation back to its topic.

That she admired his mind, then and now, sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Severus after all was a realist and he knew that handsome was not a phrase that would normally be associated with him but he was his mind that she admired! It was enough to make his blood boil, something that really should wait on the outcome of their chastisement of those fools. Taking his libido firmly in hand, so to speak, Severus commented "Perhaps you should clothe yourself for travel, while I find the tomes in question? We have much work to do, if we are to catch those idiots while they are still helplessly inebriated. As delectable as your present state of attire may be, I have no intention of sharing such a charming view with your associates." As Hermione complied he went in search of the tomes in which the required recipes and incantations were to be found.

Severus returned moments later, three books in hand, to the sight of Hermione tucking her Muggle t-shirt back into her jeans. "That was surprisingly quick," Severus said, rather miffed that he had missed a final chance to peruse her delectable flesh. "Most women of my acquaintance cannot be dressed in less than an hour."

Any further comment was forestalled as Hermione stalked forward saying, "That's a sight I don't want to share with anyone else right now, myself. Or ever, for that matter." The salacious look in her eyes reminded him of his own disarray. "Here, allow me to help," she said as her hands reached for his buttons, "since your hands are so…full."

Help. If what she was doing was helping, he was doomed. Yes, his shirt was now done up and no longer hanging out, unfortunately something else was up, and he was fighting to keep his mind on the vengeance planned. With the implacable resolve of Salazar himself, Severus barely withstood the assault on his control. 'I should be awarded the Order of Merlin (First Class) for this', he thought. Just as his control threatened to break, the load of books was whipped from his grasp as Hermione appeared to lose her own internal battle saying, "I'll, uh, just hold these while you finish the rest. So you won't get any further distracted…for now."

"And later?" he asked her, his eyebrow rising just ever-so-slightly.

"Well, erm, I'd actually have to be undoing all these buttons at that point," she half-mumbled whilst he set about putting his clothing to rights. "But then it'll probably be a long while before I'll next have the chance to do them up again."

"To later then," he said with a bow, "but first we have some brewing to do."

"Quite," was the reply before he was asked, "Shall we floo?"

"Yes; let's," he agreed with a rare display of humor, before gesturing solicitously towards his living room.

The celebrations were still in full swing when the pair returned to Grimmauld Place; but not in the manner of song, dance and bacchanality. Rather, in the manner soft grunts and moans. "This should please Black; his home is now a whorehouse," Severus snapped to hide worry that their prey might have gone to ground. Hermione just ignored him, it seemed, as she led him instead towards the room she shared with Miss Weasley.

"It sounds empty," his companion commented as she listened closely at the door before opening it. The room might have sounded empty, but red hair glinted in the candle light. Thanking Merlin, Severus noted the other head was covered with blonde locks; Bill and Fleur Weasley then, not Ginny and the Brat.

Taking his wand from his sleeve, Severus cast a very quiet levitation spell at the trunk labeled "HJG".

Hermione's whispered, "That could've been a far worse image…" momentarily distracted him, forcibly reminding him of the prats on whom their wrath was about to fall.

"I suggest we look in on our 'playthings'," he said as he allowed her trunk to settle in his hands. "We wouldn't want them to worry about you now, would we?" His smile was just the other side of evil as he thought of how Potter, and for that matter any Weasleys present, would react to his carrying of Hermione's luggage. Bowing solicitously, or in a rather mocking parody of said action, Severus commented to Hermione. "Shall we see if the synaptically-challenged are still awake?"

His companion agreed readily, before enquiring whether or not he'd prefer their targets sober. He rather liked her suggested means of ensuring sobriety, if that was his preference. Scaring them witless sounded rather enjoyable.

"Sober. Think of the sheer terror that will be invoked as they worry about what we might be planning," he said with a smile. He then began the conscious processes required to shift his demeanor from standard Severus mode (plain, old, garden variety bastard) into Warpath Severus Snape (Head of House Slytherin who's just had the House Cup stolen from them again by Potter's antics, Master of the Dark Arts, and ready and willing to cast Avada Kedavra, wandless, at the next person who moves…or in Longbottom's case, just because he's there). "Lead the way."

Severus followed Hermione as she stalked through the house like Albus on a sugar hunt, though at least the view was considerable better. Unfortunately, his attention was returned to the task at hand as he almost barrelled into Hermione. As expected, she'd flung the door open with the flair of a Valkyrie on the warpath, but then she just stopped dead in her tracks. The reason was all too apparent when he looked over her head: Potter and Longbottom, in flagrante delicto.

In the end it was the fact that Severus was the consummate Slytherin that allowed him to carry through with the planned 'sobering' instead of taking one look, turning and leaving (post-haste) when he heard Longbottom's muttered ejaculation of, "Naughty…Potions Master…ten points…from Slytherin!"

The fact was that the current arrangement provided so much fodder for his rage that he was almost at a loss as to where to start. Holding firmly to his 'I'm on a warpath' demeanor, rather than allowing it to escalate into his current preference for 'I'm scarier than Voldemort ever was', Severus raised one eloquent eyebrow as he observed the scene before him. "It seems I missed my chance; who would have thought that Potter could be buggered at all… And Mr. Longbottom, or should I say, Mr. Long-for-bottom, I am pleased to see exactly where your name comes from. Tell me, Mr. Longbottom, are you actually able to brew this potion correctly, or is it just luck that you managed to get your implement into the correct position?"

Severus was rather delighted to hear Hermione's rather caustic comment from the side. "—I don't know, Professor; it must have been luck. After all, I wasn't here to tell him where to stick it and what to do with it, in the end. He's never gotten any other potion right before on his own. Even with Harry for a partner."

There were times when he would have sworn that Neville Longbottom required Hermione's help just to find a quill, let alone know what to do with it. That feeling of delight was further enhanced when, as the Boy-Who-Was-Really-Buggered's head jerked up at the sound his and Hermione's voices; the look of sheer horror was one to warm even the coldest Potion Master's heart. Then things just got better.

Neville Longbottom looked up and whimpered before crying out in pain, "Ow ow ow!-Leggo!" He appeared to be stuck.

"Gerroff!" Harry was hissing back as he seemed to try to shift out from under the other man.

"Stop tensing up! You're going to bloody rip it off!" Neville whimpered. "-Ah! Dammit, you've locked up on me! I'm stuck in a snapper!"

'Oh the possibilities', Severus thought to himself as he watched the room's orgy-sprawled occupants began to process his and Hermione's presence. Out loud, he offered sadistically, "When I have finished delivering this to its rightful location, I might be free to return with a muscle relaxant. Of course that will be after suitable retribution is enacted for the pain and sufferings you have all put Miss Granger through."

The overall effect was somewhat spoiled by Parvati's gasp of "-That's Hermione's trunk!"

"But of course, a gentleman always assists a lady in distress home… and after the events of the past hour, I believe she is in need of rest. Bed rest, and lots of it," Severus said with a smirk. 'Make what you will of that you pea-brained fools', he thought, and make something of it most of them apparently did going by the variety of hues that now painted the somewhat sobered faces before them.

Hermione calmly addressed the sickly green bodies, "Well, as I am knackered from such an eventful evening, I think we should leave the lot of you alone to think about the consequences of dabbling in Dark Magic," before glancing back at him. Severus stepped neatly back to allow Hermione to leave the room, his stance clearly saying 'I have her back'. Still, the Slytherin in him was not about to pass up such a perfect chance to engage in further mind games. When her back was turned, the dumbstruck audience was treated to his mask shifting briefly from aggravated to aroused, from livid to lascivious. It was enough. And better yet, Hermione hadn't seen; she was too busy spell-casting.

It seemed she was as diligent a student as he knew she was. She rarely disappointed. Words of ancient Gaelic were used to seal the room before she asked how long the planned potion would take to brew.

"The simmering stage in the most time-consuming part of this potion," he said in pedagogical tones, "but as your 'charms' are effectively unbreakable, at least until Albus sobers up, we have plenty of time." He was rather pleased with her solution to corralling their prey. "10 points to Gryffindor," he said with a smile. After all he could say it, the points wouldn't actually be awarded and was the closest to a compliment he was able to give.

The smile she awarded him almost brought him to his knees; then she had to go all 'Muggle', talking about bloody lavatory needs. "If they can't remember they are wizard enough to deal with such containment and disposal then they deserve whatever happens," he said, looking at her rather scathingly.

'She is definitely a Gryffindor', he thought to himself as she blushed whilst challenging him. "Don't be crude, Severus. As soon as they recover from their shock, they'll still be drunken sots. I doubt they'll be able to tell one end of their wands from the other for at least another hour, let alone cast the necessary charms."

Before he could draw a breath to reply she continued, "I'm simply worried that Mrs. Weasley might try to blame any damages due to uncontained materials on the two of us…oh, alright, on me…as the one who locked them in! You know how she is about cleanliness, even if it isn't her house. I'd rather not be on the wrong end of one her lectures anytime soon. How long will the ruddy potion take?"

"It doesn't really matter at all how long the potion takes to brew Miss Granger," he answered he in stiff tones. "The likelihood that Mrs. Weasley will be able to enter that room until you remove the barrier is about the same as the chance of anyone currently in there being able to escape: in other words, none. If you are that petrified of the Weasley matriarch, I will assist you to bring the room to rights. After all if we can not return 'Potter's Hovel' to its pristine state with a bit of foolish wand-waving, we are not the wizards I thought we were.

"I, for one, would rather get the potion brewing and then whilst it simmers, overnight for your information, engage in more pleasurable activities than worry about the state of the floor. But if you must…"

"Oh. No, I was worried it would be more like a day or two, and that would've brought up the question of food, too, though by then they'd have hopefully sobered and conjured their own solutions to such problems." Hermione eyed him speculatively. "But if we need something to occupy ourselves in the meantime…I'd like that very much."

Apparating to the Granger residence caused no real difficulties for Severus. He was well aware of where Hermione's home was, as well as that of every Muggle-born child regardless of House-affiliation, currently enrolled in Hogwarts, not that he was telling anyone. The house itself would have been overlooked if one were to drive past; it looked more or less like every other house on the road. 'Muggle uniformity', he snorted to himself, 'bland and boring, even for those with more than adequate competences'.

Hermione led him up the garden path, the only garden path he'd let her lead him up, her trunk floating serenely along behind them. Severus may have been happy to have the drunken mass of imbecilic prats at Grimmauld Place see him carrying her trunk but no self-respecting wizard was going to load their hands down when it wasn't necessary. No self-respecting ex-spy such as himself, his dark 'master' now a mouldering pile of dust, was going to load his hands when it wasn't necessary; he had no compunction about hexing others bent on revenge, but his hands needed to be free to do so. Hermione on the other hand was apparently unaware or unconcerned about any possible danger. After pulling some sort of lever on the side of the gate, letting him through, and pulling the lever again once it was shut, she blithely sauntered up the path and opened the door without once looking to see if anyone lurked in the shadows.

"Your lack of awareness of your surrounds, Miss Granger, is truly frightening," Severus muttered under his breath as he followed her into the front hallway. Hermione appeared not to hear him. She was more interested in getting her trunk stowed away. Interestingly, Hermione prevented him from catching even the smallest glance of her room. Given the degree of familiarity he expected to hold of that room later, successful brewing not withstanding, it was a notable occurrence. He filed the fact away for later investigation.

For the present he just 'meekly' followed Hermione as she led him back downstairs and to a surprisingly well thought-out Potions Lab in the basement. He rather enjoyed the flustered look as she flicked the light on; his Potions books balanced precariously against her hip, proclaiming "…See? My own little Potions-lab."

Severus said nothing; he just let his eyes wander about the room, noting the layout and contents. He allowed no expression to cross his face even when the girl began babbling. "Nothing like yours, of course, but I've managed to make do. And I've got nearly everything in my cupboards down here, save for some of the really rare stuff, and what's still up in my trunk, ingredients and equipment leftover from school…"

Strolling about the room he opened cupboards, poked his not inconsiderable nose into drawers and generally catalogued the entire content of the room. "…Adequate, Miss Granger. Barely. Remind me to catalogue and correct the deficiencies inherent in a Potions Lab in a Muggle world. For example, I'm not sure what these Muggle implements are doing in a well-stocked Potions lab.

"I don't want to even think about what this does," he added indicating a convoluted piece of glassware, "but I will admit it is… adequate," he said, silently observing the chemical reaction that was Miss Granger. Her expression went from crushed to pleased in an instant. She obviously understood the accolade he had granted her. "It looks as if you have nearly everything we'd need right here. That being the case…I see no reason to leave this house for tonight. As improbable as it would be for anyone to escape one of your wardings, the first place they would look for us would be down in the dungeons…you did say that your family was elsewhere, for the weekend?"

"Yes; my mother's receiving an award at a dentistry convention, for her innovations in tint-matching acrylic cavity fillings to patients' enamel variations," she explained, giggling slightly as though she knew he couldn't understand a word she'd said. He remained silent, waiting to see if she'd fill in the void, and she finally relented. "It's a bit over my head, too, and I've been listening to that sort of stuff for ages."

He watched as she finally settled the books onto a clear area on the centre work bench, solid black oak. He was actually impressed… not that he would say such a thing. Gesturing at the books she said in an imperious tone, "If you'll look up the spells and call out what's needed, I'll check my inventory to see if I have the equipment and ingredients already on hand." Rather than making a cutting remark, since he himself did not react well to anyone 'commanding' him in that sort of tone, he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand; the sooner the brew was done the sooner he could teach her a lesson in manners.

Not that he really needed to look anything up. He already had most of the knowledge that he needed recalled into his prodigious memory; still it never hurt to check. The list of ingredients was impressive. Some of them were uncommon though nothing was particularly rare. In pedantic tones he began to list the ingredients, his delivery become softer, smoother, and silkier, as he watched Hermione shiver slightly. 'Who would have thought', he mused. 'I can control her just by tone'. He smirked to himself as he mentally listed the possibilities.

"We'll have to return to Hogwarts to get any ingredients you don't have," Severus said when he got the end of the list assuming that some of the more uncommon ingredients would not form part of Hermione's stores.

He was rather surprised when she commented; "Actually, I already have everything on the list. I've got a jar of Skullcap flowers up in my trunk. It's got a good dozen of the dried blossoms inside. I mean, they really do deserve it, and I got the Skullcap flowers more or less for free, so it's not a waste of precious Galleons."

He couldn't help it, a small snort escaped. The girl did have her priorities right.

"I'll, um, start getting everything out and ready. Why don't you get the jar out of my trunk? It'll still be in my closet, where you put it." Well, it was her lab after all, so Severus refrained from making any comments about her tone. Instead he quietly turned and headed up towards Hermione's room.

Severus hadn't had much of a chance to observe Hermione's room when they had deposited the truck there; he'd been hustled out of sight with alacrity, almost too much alacrity, as it had set his mind to wondering what she hadn't wanted him to see. Still, as he stepped back into her domain to collect the last of the ingredients needed, he had to wonder if his natural inclination towards suspicion was actually working overtime; after all she was a Gryffindor and subtlety was not a strong suit of that house.

Hermione's room was surprisingly understated for a teenager, even one so obviously on the cusp of womanhood. There were no hideous posters of Quidditch Seekers, past and present, only one fluffy pink bunny on a shelf to one side, but no girly pyjamas to send him into fits of discomfort due to her age. No, Miss Granger's room was neat, orderly and pleasant.

The wall on the right hand side sported a large bay window with reading seat; the wall to the left housed the wardrobe and a large desk; beside him, on the wall the adjoined the hallway was a small vanity unit; her bed was positioned opposite between the room's only other decoration: two life-size posters. Given that he was more interested on getting back to brewing than in any voyeuristic pleasure to be gained poking around the room Severus paid scant attention to the posters, other than to note that Miss Granger had rather good taste. One poster sported the title "Labyrinth: Jared", the other had a man, somewhat similar in build to himself, sneering out over the caption "…and cancel Christmas!"

Severus quickly moved to where Hermione's trunk had been somewhat unceremoniously shoved into the wardrobe, intent on retrieving the jar of Skullcap flower petals that Miss Granger apparently had obtained in Hogsmeade during the school year, sometime recent, for she hadn't yet had time to relocate the valuable blossoms down to her own Potions Lab. Given the orderly state of her room, he assumed it would be a simple task to retrieve one jar from her trunk…all the while forgetting one of the cardinal rules of the universe, Muggle or magic:

The contents of any woman's purse, handbag, and/or trunk, when emptied by a male, will take up approximately 1.5 times the possible volume of said original container. Add in the fact that Hermione had shrunk most of the contents prior to storing them in her trunk, and Severus suddenly found himself literally buried beneath books, panties, feminine hygiene products and various magazines.

Sorting through the jumble, his attention was snagged variously by Potions texts, for it seemed Miss Granger had quite a sizeable library, flimsy pieces of silk and cotton that he really couldn't imagine the Hogwarts Head Girl wearing, and a number of plain-covered books, obviously part of a series, Penthouse Uncensored I, II and III. Curious he opened the first to find chapter titles like "Serendipity", "Pursuit and Capture" and "Someone's Watching". That explained some of Miss Granger's aptitude; it appeared that she had researched certain theories rather widely.

It was a story under the chapter title "Domination and Discipline" that bought back to his mind the jar of Skullcap flower petals. How Miss Granger had managed to get a whole jar was one of those things he thought he might question her on later, after he'd given her another good tongue lashing. That thought proceeded to stir up parts of his anatomy that until very recently had been under his complete control; now, Severus realised with a small amount of embarrassment, he was giving off the wizarding equivalent of sex-pheromones. He could literally see the waves of magic flowing from his skin; the more he thought on Miss Granger the deeper and richer the waves became.

Embarrassment on Severus' part turned sharply to mortification when his musings on Miss Granger were rudely interrupted by a very sarcastic comment coming from the direction of the "Cancel Christmas" poster. "If that is either Potter or Weasley, come to rifle through Miss Granger's underthings, I will personally hex your tackle until it is so small that the only female of the species you would be capable of mating with is a bumblebee." The startled Potion's Master almost gave himself whiplash as he swung about, wand at the ready, to hex whoever had spoken to oblivion. However, no one was in sight.

"And do put your wand away, you imbecilic Gryffindor," the voice said nastily, "if you continue to give off magical pheromones at that rate, you'll expire before you ever succeed in breeding. On second thought, pray, continue. It might please the original no end. Certainly it'll give me the proverbial giggles."

Severus ignored all comments. The poster was Muggle; it did not move. However, he'd seen more than one instance where another painting had been hidden on the back of the first, and figured this was the case. Instead he stalked towards the poster, intent on hexing it and its magical occupant to kingdom come. Striking with the speed on a snake, he flipped the poster over only to come face to face with an oil painting of ...himself? Worse, himself in a parody of the "Cancel Christmas" poster, for this one sported the caption "And Cancel Quidditch!"

"What in Merlin's name is the meaning of this?" Severus, the original, asked.

"I would have thought it was perfectly obvious," the painted man replied, "but apparently my intelligence is much overrated."

"I'll give you overrated, you imitation piece of oil and canvas." Severus returned serve quickly, but was stymied when the portrait quipped back in a falsetto voice, "'I'll have you know that the real Severus Snape is highly intelligent.'" The portrait Snape glanced past his shoulder, then frowned at the real Severus. "Hang on; what the hell are you doing in her bedroom, anyway?"

"That is what I was about to ask you," Severus said; he, too, heard the running footsteps of the only other occupant in the house. However, he wasn't addressing the portrait this time. Instead, his eyes were fixed 'Basilisk-like' on Hermione, who cowered at the entrance to her room.

"Well?" He let loose his most formidable weapon: his left eyebrow rose.

Instead of answering the question Hermione said in a resigned voice, "I am so screwed…"

"Only figuratively at the moment," Severus said with a resigned grimace. "Later it may be literally, depending..."

Watching as she relaxed, Severus then moved in for the kill, 'Right now I am only interested in what you are doing with a wizarding portrait of myself in your possession," he said in ominous tones. "Have you any idea of the damage that could be done to my reputation if anyone were to find out about this…" he stopped to collect his control before he was tempted to hex Miss Granger's teeth back to the monstrosity they were in her second year. "Miss Granger, until now I had almost come to respect your intelligence, but it appears I was mistaken.

"You may not approve of my teaching methods, nobody does, but as I have had no fatal accidents occur during my tenure, my methods are tolerated. On the other hand, if ANYONE…" Now Severus was shouting as the sheer scope of the potential disaster registered, "had seen that portrait, I would have been at the least dismissed from Hogwarts, and at worst bound for Azkaban, before you could say Harry Potter is a twit!"

Severus simply scoffed at Hermione protest of 'But you wouldn't be at fault! You had nothing to do with it!' "-It doesn't matter that I had nothing to do with it," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Surely, after your association with that mutt Black, you realize that perception has very little to do with the truth. I had nothing to do with it, but I should have been well and truly aware of the fact that you were making this," he waved his hands in the portrait's general direction, "and put a stop to it. Certainly I should've noticed you taking the requisite samples of hair and so forth from me!"

"But it's a new process!" Hermione returned. "No samples are needed! It's got some flaws, of course; the subject can't travel to other nearby portraits just yet, but we're working on that aspect…"

"'We'?" He pounced on the pronoun suspiciously. "Who is 'we'?"

"Erm…Colin Creevey…" Hermione answered, looking all the while like she expected the house to fall on top of her; she was not disappointed.

"Colin Creevey!" Severus shouted before deciding to set the volume switch up a few hundred decibels. "Colin, I'm a FUCKING GRYFFINDOR with a camera, CREEVEY painted that portrait!" Severus could feel the waves of anger washing out from him and didn't care. If the room fell on him now, so much the better. In fact, it was surprising that the walls of a Muggle house were able to cringe, but given the scale of Severus' pique any sane structure would cringe. The walls of Hermione's bedroom certainly had some semblance of a survival instinct.

Like a veterinarian attempting to calm a wild animal Hermione spoke soothingly, gently, "No, he did not paint your portrait! I painted your portrait! He just…he just came up with the process for the paints. He gave them to me so that I could test them to try and figure out why the portraits couldn't move from one frame to the next, like conventional wizarding oils. He doesn't know who or what I painted."

"…You painted the portrait…" Severus asked rhetorically, his anger briefly sidetracked. Turning again to actually face the blasted thing, he was surprised to note that the portrait was rather well done. It wasn't Rembrandt, but it was rather good. "The nose is too small," he muttered before he turned back to Hermione. "That might explain why you painted a portrait, Miss Granger. That does not address the meat of the matter: why you painted MY portrait."

What he hoped for was a short, succinct answer; what he got shocked him to the core.

"I've always respected you," she said. "From the very beginning, day one, I respected you. I'd found out everything I could about Hogwarts, read that you were the youngest teacher ever selected for the staff, that you were the youngest Potions Master in Hogwarts history—in the history of all of Britain, in fact. So I was ready to give you the respect you had clearly earned. The fact that you turned out to be, well…unpleasant and biased in favour of your own House was sort of the clay feet on the idol I'd hoped you would be for me. But that never negated the fact that you were, and are, incredibly knowledgeable, skillful and talented.

"But respect alone wasn't enough," Hermione continued appearing to choose her words carefully.

'Survival instincts,' he thought to himself as he watched her marshal her arguments.

"You were unpleasant. Beyond unpleasant, if I can be blunt about it. And yet, I couldn't help admiring your intellect. And your wit—you're very erudite and witty, I won't deny that was something I've always admired about you. But admiration alone wasn't enough. You're not an easy man to respect and admire. So, imagine my state of mind when I found out how heroic you were, too, spying for the Order. On the one hand, greasy, snarky bastard-git. On the other hand…skillful, witty, unsung hero of the war. Which was the real you? Yes, you still managed to retain my respect, when all around me were cursing your name. And you had my admiration in spades."

She was fascinated by him? She'd had a schoolgirl crush on him; this was worse than he thought and he'd… he'd… 'Merlin's Balls', he thought sourly, 'I've had relations with a victim of a schoolgirl crush.'

"In some mental fantasy-world I may be all that, Miss Granger", he said, "but you really need to let go of this childish fascination…"

"…Will you let me finish?" Hermione interrupted, scowling at him. "Yes, I was fascinated by you. And yet, I also hated you."

'Hated me?' The thought confused him. If she hated him, why in Circe's name did she paint his portrait?

It just didn't make sense, especially when she confirmed it by stating again, "Oh, yes, I hated you. For all that I knew you were one of the good guys…knew it by instinct at the start, and by confirmation in the past few years but you were still a bastard! One above and beyond anything that you had to be, towards anyone who wasn't in your House.

"Especially towards the Gryffindors, and especially towards my friends and me," she ranted as she pointed at her temple. "I still have, in my head, your words the day that Malfoy hit me with that Densaugeo charm… 'I see no difference'! I have had that ringing in my memory like a gong-struck Pensieve since fourth year! Trust me when I say that no schoolgirl crush can survive something as hurtful as that being applied to a fantasy-weaving, tender, young ego."

"And you and I, and a great many other people are alive today Miss Granger because I was a bastard above and beyond the call of duty and house loyalty," he snapped back. "Have you yet heard anyone, anyone at all, thank me for MY sacrifices, ask me if I minded being BUGGERED for the cause, shown me anything even remotely approaching human kindness?

"Of course not, and why? Let's start with: he's a Slytherin," Severus snarled. "I'd be very careful, Miss Granger, of throwing House-based taunts, as those of the Lion have done their fair, and manifestly unfair, share in the past. Or we could try: he's a Death Eater. Not necessarily by choice; after all, family pressure and House loyalties are the only things Slytherins give in to. Then there is always: he's our spy, if word got back to Voldemort, he'd be compromised. Or then there is my very own person favorite! 'You owe Potter a life debt.' Of course, I wouldn't owe that blasted life debt if a sweet little Gryffindor hadn't tried to kill me! You want to talk about bastard above and beyond the call go right ahead; I'm going back to my dungeons."

Just as he drew his wand to begin the incantation to apparate back to Hogwarts, Hermione sneered in his face, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Go right ahead! Crawl back under your rock! But it still doesn't change the fact that I'm bloody well in love with you!"

Severus blinked.

He blinked again.

He seemed to be setting a rather disquieting trend; he blinked again because there was no way he could have heard what he just heard and he couldn't actually asked Hermione to repeat herself.

She didn't; instead she snarled, "…But if you do decide you prefer being the lowest form of life on earth, and squidge back under your favorite, mouldering boulder, then it's not going to resolve anything, and you're not the man you showed everyone you were."

That prodded his brain back to life. "And it is very obvious Miss Granger that you have not been listening to me. I am the lowest form of life on earth! I have had a great many years to perfect that," he replied, but it was clear Miss Granger wasn't giving up without a fight.

"I have been listening to you…and I've been watching you, too!" Hermione stated. "What you've said and what you've done, Severus Snape, have been two very different things! You confused me hellaciously for too many years, until I realized you had yourself fooled as surely as the rest of us! You are a hero. Not because you've claimed to be one, but because you've done heroic things!"

The problem was he didn't really consider himself a hero. He was survivor and a damn good one, thus he couldn't quite follow her reasoning. She must have sensed that as she stepped closer, "Actions always speak louder than mere words, Severus! Your actions have spoken whole volumes on who you really are! Actions speak louder than words!"

Then, when all else might have failed, she did the one thing that would at least startle him out of his black mood: she kissed him. She kissed him with all the frustrated love a kiss could convey.

He stood stock-still. Her lips were on his, and launching a rather devastating assault on his senses, but he couldn't process what was happening. All of his past experiences failed to prepare him to deal with the conflicting emotions that Hermione Granger evoked. His mind, his magnificent, Slytherin mind, his whole intellect was staring into the abyss and he didn't like it, not one little bit. To make matters worse, those parts of his psyche that he'd thought atrophied due to lack of use were taking decided advantage of his almost comatose state to launch surprise ambush from the rear.

His arms, completely of their own volition, had wrapped themselves around Miss Granger and were currently pulling her closer to him. His mouth, that tool which had scathingly scared generations of students was now capitulating to her, opening, inviting her in.

Miss Granger showed little regard for his mind's dignity, instead breaching his defenses with wanton fervor. Still, if it was a war she wanted, a war she would get; he was not going to lie down and play dead. No, he would retaliate with all the Slytherin cunning that was his. He dueled her tongue, he nipped at her lips, he drew her closer to him and whispered in an under tone designed to spark her pleasure centers, "Hermione…"

It worked as he thought it would. She moaned softly before exposing her neck to him; a fact he took advantage of, nibbling his way slowly down the line of carotid artery until he reached the pulse point, where he lingered. He savored the feel of her fluttering pulse as he suckled on her neck; he bit, ever so softly, the skin about that tender point, and as he did so he whispered her name again, caressing her throat with his voice.

"Oh, dear god!" Portrait Snape exclaimed in a tone not unlike the original's whenever he addressed Neville Longbottom. "It might not be that dunderhead Weasley, or worse, Potter, but couldn't you at least have the decency to do that elsewhere?" When it became rather obvious that neither participant was really paying him any attention the Portrait yelled, "For Circe's sake, at least turn me back to face the wall!"

"Bugger off, you greasy daub," Severus snarled before returning his attention to the task at hand, mouth, tongue, … libido.

{BEE DEE}{BEE DEE}{BEE DEE}

Severus reacted with reflexes trained by years to spying. He dropped Hermione and had his wand in hand, aimed, and a hex almost fully out of his mouth before Hermione's startled shriek of 'don't' pulled him up. With no outlet for the adrenaline surge that spiked through his veins, Severus collapsed against the bed as he watched Hermione deal with telephone.

'Arthur should be here to witness this', he thought. The man, after all, had an unhealthy obsession with all things Muggle; Severus just wished he could blast the infernal machine to bits.

Hermione spoke to the machine, "…Granger residence, who is it?" The expression on her face quickly became priceless. "…You want me to what?" she snapped out indignantly. It seemed the Muggle Telephone and the Floo into Albus' office shared similar characteristics. Severus was certain the expression she currently sported was a mirror to the one he usually had whenever Albus flooed him in the dungeons. Severus was about to comment when Hermione let her temper loose.

"It's nine bloody fifteen in the evening, and you're calling to ask me a survey? I've got something a hell of a lot better to do than to listen to some opinion-pecking vulture from a bloody inconsiderate marketing company! Try calling back at a decent hour!" She slammed the phone down, hard, before casting spells that he assumed would ensure peace, at least for about four hours; now if only those spells would work on his Floo…

"Damned thing's as bad as the Floo. You don't get someone peeking out at you, but it does get used more often… We, um, should probably get back down to the basement and get started on the potion, or we'll forget all about it, I think," she grumbled.

"Quite." He let his eyebrow do the talking again.

Severus was beaten to the punch, as Hermione quickly spelled the portrait back to face the wall. His preferred option of course would have had the portrait disappear entirely but he rather suspected Hermione would not agree, and as he had some designs on her for later, he thought it wise to appear to acquiesce. For the moment anyway. Later, that… thing would go. He followed her back down the stairs towards her basement laboratory, carrying the jar of Skullcap flowers.

Hermione was already bent over on of the books at the side counter when he entered the room; being a sensible Slytherin he took a moment of two to enjoy the view before he placed the jar of flowers amidst the other ingredients spread around the central island. He was pleased to note that the ingredients were ordered appropriately: those needed early or with longer preparation times were grouped at one end; those that would be required late in the brewing were placed further away.

"I think we can use the badger root in millimeter slices to bring out the anti-ideal qualities in the potion," Hermione commented, her nose still buried in one of the texts.

"Too thick," he answered after a moment's concentration. "The antithesis of ideal might be better symbolized by…" and he stopped for a moment as one of those blinding flashes of insight hit him. "Miss Granger," he asked, "could you come here for a moment?"

She blinked. "If the thickness of the slices is a problem; the deli-slicer can make it paper-thin, if we want. With absolute uniformity..."

Severus cut across her ignoring the comment about a deli-slicer, whatever the hell that was. "I said come here."

She came closer, albeit warily.

"I said," he let his voice drop down into the deeper registers, "that the antithesis of the ideal might better be symbolized by this." His hand reached out to touch her face, gentle and commanding. Before she had a chance to question what 'this' was he swooped in, his mouth closing on hers like a raptor's claws closed on their prey. Enjoying himself, he plundered the sweet depths; he tasted again the silk that was her tongue. Severus pulled her close to him, enfolding her in his robes as one long arm snaked around her, bringing a small vial to their joined lips.

Swiftly he disengaged and drew the vial across her still-parted lips, collecting the commingled juices of their kiss. Eyeing the vial, he commented, "That ought to be enough."

"You…you want to use us as the antithesis of their ideal?" she asked, almost following him to that place where brilliance lived, almost.

"Not their antithesis of the ideal," he said as he dropped into the teaching tones, "not quite. At least, not quite if you mean our joining would be considered abominable by that bunch of hormone-driven cretins. Rather, that together," and here his tone saddened involuntarily, "we represent what is not considered ideal by anyone amongst that pack.

"We are neither of us beautiful in the ideal sense. We are neither of us ideal in the sense of personality, and yes I do mean you, Miss Granger," Severus admitted, "with your passion for knowledge and an overabundance of the need to display it. And the idea that we, or I in particular, might ever have a chance at an ideal mate is so ludicrous that it does not even bear thinking upon. It is that 'embodiment' that will infuse the potion with the power to draw forth each of those synaptically-challenged nitwits' anti-ideal." Severus then let a small smile cross his features. "That we, ourselves, can induce that antithesis in just a kiss makes the revenge a little more personal."

He watched as a frown appeared and was almost tempted to reach out and sooth it away, when she pulled out if his grasp. Taken slightly aback at the reaction, Severus watched as she stalked around to bench to the sideboard where the various tomes were placed, she appeared to ignore him completely in favor of muttering to herself and scanning through the books. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her as she strode back towards him full of that insufferable Gryffindor confidence. "I think we can modify this charm to better effect," she said, and then, probably noting his disapproval, "I think it would be far more effective—where our revenge is concerned—for them to experience the sensual pleasures of the best sex of their life…while watching a mental image of the two of us having the best sex of our lives. You see the problem we run into with them picturing just one of us snogging them is, erm…Ron. And Neville, apparently. Ron Weasley still has a bit of a crush on me, and he'd not think it awful. Neville…er…has a few problems, too. But if they're all seeing us together—which if you'll recall is the initial image they found revolting when we left to take care of the bottle spell—then it'll repulse all of them. Because we're their anthithesis, and yet we are still managing to find happiness together. I want them to know, every time afterwards when they see one or both of us…that we're happy." The confession emerged quietly. She gave him a lopsided, rueful smile. "That'll drive most of 'em nutters. Even if…even if we don't ever do anything again, after all of this."

"…And you obtained you Mistress' papers when?" he asked dryly when she finally wound down. "You are still caught up in the detail rather than the abstract, Miss Granger."

"-Abstract, my foot! I'm thinking of an ongoing torment that will apply to all of their psyches!"

"Miss Granger for once in your life accept that there are some things that others know a lot more about that you," he stated blandly, "Whilst I suspect that our, or more precisely, my happiness, is something of an antithesis to the ideal that group of simple-minded fools, you, Miss Granger are still looking too closely at the problem. To coin a phrase, you can't see the hippogriff for the feathers.

"What I suggest is an 'idea', an 'idea' of the antithesis. It is the 'idea' that makes the potion powerful, for it is not constrained to a single occurrence. Just consider, Hermione, as they grow and change, their intellect may also grow and change, thus what is a single abhorrent idea now may not remain so in the future; but if we capture the 'idea' of that abhorrence then it too can grow, change, mature."

"But that is exactly what I'm talking about! I'm talking about gouging out a narrow little strip of their sanity, twisting it around, and sealing it back into place! I don't want them to have absolutely horrid sex for the rest of their lives, because they're tainted by the thought of…of boinking us! I want them to have absolute horror whenever they see us. We, Severus—you and I—are the victims in this assinine, juvenile dabbling in the borderline Dark Arts. They dared instigate a game without thinking of the consequences for the people around them, and we were caught in the backfire. I want to rip them a scar of guilt. I want them to know that their actions had consequences. That, while they were thinking only of the pleasures of the moment, they were striking a devil's deal for someone else's soul! What you are proposing is good for torture, yes, but it's too general.

"Eventually they'll get on with their lives, sex-wise, and for all I care, they can start finding bestiality to be the new kink in their lives. I want them to feel guilt, and feel it strong enough that it changes the way that they think. Perhaps that's the difference between you and me, but in this variation, when they look at us, and feel guilt, and know that we were happy in spite of their abhorrence…then they're eventually going to realize that we have the right to be happy. This will pound it into their brains. Yes, right now they think that the two of us going at it is squicky. But they'd better damn well change their attitude about that, because you and I can still find sexual bliss. Even with all of our multitude of character sins. I don't want revenge; I want vengeance. I don't want retribution; I want restitution." Her tone spoke volumes about how badly she wanted that revenge too. "Maybe that's the difference between you and me, but I see this as the better option. You're a better man than you think, Severus Snape. The man you once were would go for the first option, but I think the man that you are can grasp the subtlety of this one."

"And do you really have any idea, Miss Granger, about the dangers inherent in guilt?" Severus snarled. "If," and he ground that out, "guilt is all you want, you only need wait till they are sober. One thing you can guarantee is that they will feel guilt about their actions, but it will be a guilt born out of pity, a natural guilt that you had to have 'intimate' relations with me. They won't see beyond that, and forcing them to see 'us' won't enlighten them because neither of us are willing to go deep enough into dark magic to apply the required force to achieve what you describe."

She argued fiercely; Severus listened and watched more for the passion she displayed than for the drivel of ideas and ideals she spouted. He had to agree with her comment about living well, but he didn't actually hold out much hope for living, let alone living well. Add in the fact that she seemed to think that there was a possibility of an 'extended togetherness' and his mental faculties were experiencing some difficulties. It was a bit too much like an option for 'living well', something he honestly didn't expect to have a chance at. He didn't make people happy; that was one of the undeniable tenets of the universe: Albus meddled, Minerva scowled, and Severus didn't make people happy. He probably looked like that beast Buckbeak, whom the whole Order had tended at one point or another; he was certain his head was cocking to the side like a confused hippogriff as he tried to follow her argument. He, Severus Snape, made someone like her happy?

"…I don't make people happy," he finally said.

She looked at him, hand planted firmly on her hips and asked, "Severus. Am I a person?"

Not sure where she was intent on leading him but certain she had a path in mind he answered, "Yes."

"Did you lick me to a screaming orgasm, just a little while ago?" she asked with typical Gryffindor brashness.

"Yes…" he answered. His tone a little wary, somewhat reminiscent of the tone he normally would have used when dealing with Lord Voldemort.

"Is it reasonable, nay, logical to assume that, if you give a woman a screaming orgasm, she's happy to have had one?-Just a yes or no is all I need," her line of questioning continued. She wanted to limit him to words of one syllable: how… Slytherin.

"Considering what I've seen Lucius do with his tongue, and to whom, I'd say no."

She wasn't dumb; he could see her thinking that it would take more to convince him, and she tried a different tactic. "Try to follow along, Professor. I amend my question to, given my background and my history, if someone gives me a screaming orgasm, and I laugh out of sheer joy afterwards… Scratch that." Calming herself with a deep breath, she paused for a moment, then asked, "Severus, do you remember that paper I did on bottling the essence of elementals?"

That paper he could remember, as it had led to an interesting bit of research. What Miss Granger didn't know was that she was now a published author. He'd submitted the results of his experiments under his research pseudonym with H.J. Granger as lead author. After all, it was her ideas that had opened up a very interesting and illuminating avenue of research. "Yes," he said mildly, "I remember that one."

He let himself smile when she asked, "Do you remember how nervous I was to submit it?"

Maybe he should tell her what he'd done with it. "Yes."

Almost glowing she commented, "Did you know your acceptance of my thesis made my day? I almost did cartwheels through the dungeon corridors, when I left your classroom. I wanted your approval of my idea, and I got it. You, who were so impossible to please, gave me your approval of my idea. That made me happy. Now, do you remember the grade I got for that paper?"

"97," Severus admitted, without having to think about it as his forehead furrowed. He'd acknowledged a suitable standard of work, really the first piece of work he'd seen from her that he'd really considered acceptable. It was a truly original thesis, everything else she's turned in until then had been lacking; oh yes Minerva would have been handing out 110's left, right and centre, but for a mind like hers, she hadn't really shown any of the potential he'd felt was there until that paper. But to be made happy by that fact! That was ludicrous! You did not get happy just because someone gave you a good mark. He gave good marks to his Slytherins all the time and they were never happy.

Severus was well aware of the fact that it was the highest grade he'd every accorded anyone. What surprised him was the Hermione knew. It also disturbed him greatly that she seemed to think that the grade was given in spite of her being a Muggle-born Gryffindor. He challenged her intellect. That was what teachers did, so he could discount that. His deeds inspired her? Well she didn't know all of them and so he could discount that as well; and, the fact she was a still a virgin meant he could discount sexual gratification as a means of having make her truly happy…but the feeling engendered due to her research…

Maybe he had actually made someone happy.

He prodded at the idea like you'd normally pick and prod at a scar to see if it had healed. Maybe? Taking a small, calculated risk, and watching Hermione closely, he commented, "It was the first piece of work you ever turned in that was really worth anything."

"…See? You made me happy when you acknowledged that," she said in response. "You didn't have to acknowledge it, but you did, and that made me happy. One of my greatest desires as a student was to be worthy of the praise of my teachers, whom I looked up to…and of all their praise, I valued yours and Professor McGonagall's the most, because it was given out so charily."

With studied casualness—for he never did anything casually, and his phrasing was very specific—he admitted, "…It actually generated some new ideas, which have been well-received."

The result was as spectacular as he expected.

The blood drained from her face, her eyes blazed, he could have sworn he saw small tongues of flame dancing around her fingers as they clenched into fists, she was a howler personified…

"…You TOOK my research ideas?" she screamed, and the house began to shake slightly, "and used them to publish a paper of your own?" Now if he could just bottle some of that elemental magic she was giving off at the moment, he'd be able to solidify the results of the first paper. "You STOLE my research, and plastered my idea with your name? YOU STOLE MY RESEARCH?"

"Actually it is your research, under your name," he said dryly all the while subliminally casting the containment spell her research had led him to create. Like the small school boy he'd never had a chance to be, he almost danced with glee as the spell took hold and captured some of the elemental fire that Hermione was generating. "See?" he said holding up the spelled container. "You CAN bottle elemental magic."

He had to give her credit. She blinked and struggled to control her shrewish temper. "—What do you mean, I can bottle elemental magic? You bloody stole my research, and you say my name is on the paper, but yet you stand there with the ability to capture the very essence I postulated, and you want me to believe that you're not enjoying your own ill-gotten credit for it?"

"Like any of the real research I have done in the past twenty years, I'm getting absolutely no credit for it," he said in the same way that one discussed the weather. "Hermione. J. Granger and Innominate Dicentra have just astounded the Collegiums Wizardaris with their introductory work on Elemental Magics. So much so that the Collegiums Wizardaris is actually planning on offering Hermione. J. Granger a full scholarship to study wherever she pleases because her name is at the top of this particular series of papers. After all," he told her softly, "without you, I would never have had a clue. Still, all I did was refine your work. That was all I had to do. A little more work, and you would've had your own breakthrough."

Severus might have said more, but Hermione reacted to his comments with the speed that only a really pissed-off woman can achieve: her palm struck him a resounding blow that reverberated through his skull. Just as his teeth settled, and he was about to launch into a scathing response, she took him by surprise again. She kissed him, kissed him with all that might that embodied the House of Gryffindor, before pulling back and purring a warning to him. "…You are going to share every last bit of your research and developments on this subject, you sneaky bastard!"

Considering what that purr was doing to parts of his…psyche, he briefly wondered whether it would be wise, let alone possible, to try and bottle that sound, but he was distracted when she continued, calling his focus back to the ultimate task at hand. "…but not right now. Right now, we've a spot of vengeance to brew and bottle-and before you ask, I am both very angry and very happy with you. If you're wise, you'll keep me on the happy side of things until I've had a chance to calm down and think through all of this rationally."

Touching his hand to his cheek, Severus silently agreed that waiting for rationality was probably a good idea; wisely, he made no disparaging remarks about rationality and females in general, and then he had no time for any remarks as Hermione engaged him in an oral debate. Oral, tooth and tonsil, that was.

Sometime later, when they both had to come up for air, Severus commented dryly, "Whilst I for one would enjoy continuing our current 'debate', this is not getting our vengeance brewed. I suggest we concentrate on the task at hand and then reward ourselves for our diligence later."

Hermione agreed, though apparently somewhat reluctantly, to return to the task at hand. Turning back to the workbench, his formidable skills as a Potions Craftsman began to exert themselves, only to be interrupted by an asinine comment that sounded from the left.

"…Oh, bugger," Miss Granger commented, "We still haven't resolved the question from earlier. Do we make each of them imagine themselves snogging one of us, whatever their preferred gender, and thus scar them sexually for our vengeance?" she asked, "or do we make them imagine the two of us snogging each other, and scar them that way with the abhorrent thought of our blissful happiness?"

Impatiently, Severus corrected her. "We'll do nothing of the sort, Miss Granger. You seem intent on having them imagine us in flagrante delicto, which is something only I wish to be able to enjoy, or having them imagine us as there prospective paramours, something I'd pray never happened. Vengeance, if you are going to do it right, is a thing that must be crafted and handled carefully, and at no time should it point back to you; Albus would not be particularly forgiving if anything happened to the Boy-who-is-a-royal-pain-in-the-ass that could be pinned on yours truly.

"I still prefer forcing them to believe whenever they are in the throes of passion that it is with the person, or persons, for whom they'd rather mate with a hippogriff than suffer that person to touch them. Even if we limit the effect to a year, it would be a much more suitable revenge. I can guarantee that it will mean a year without pleasure for all of them, regardless of how they grow and mature.

"Just consider, Hermione: Neville Longbottom imagining that it is Argus Filch touching him whenever his libido strikes," Severus finished with an evil smile.

"You've finally said something I can agree with utterly, in your reasoning," she allowed. "You don't want to share the thought of me, carnally, with anyone. Well, I've given it a bit of thought, and I certainly don't want to share the thought of you, carnally, with anyone, either. Especially not Neville. He's a good friend and I'd loan him most of my books," Hermione admitted, while Severus tried not to roll his eyes, "but you're far more precious to me. I'd rather he got near the arse of the real Argus Filch right there in front of me, thank you very much."

"Then it seems we have answered the question Miss Granger," Severus said as he listened to her reply. Stepping closer to the bench, and wrapping the full knowledge of himself as the premier Potions Master in England, Severus held out his left hand to Hermione, "Now Miss Granger, if you'd be so good as to hand me that small cauldron, we can get started."

"You can move and fetch it yourself, Severus," his student…his ex-student…had the temerity to snap, "I've got to get back to slicing the badger root, since you don't know how to operate the slicer, yet." It was the 'yet' that saved her; if he couldn't work out how to use a benighted Muggle device, then he wasn't worth his scales as a Slytherin. Still, her comment made sense; he was willing to be gracious when she followed it up with, "If we divide up the work, it'll happen more quickly…and we can move on to far more interesting activities while it simmers."

"Forgive me, Miss Granger," he said as he bowed his head ever so slightly, "you are correct; things will move to completion much more quickly if we cooperate."

"Quite," she commented in return obviously having missed the subtle references he'd made. Yes, it was her space, but whether she liked it or not, Miss Granger was, at least in the realms of Potions research, still a neophyte. It was something he hoped she'd understand better once she had a chance to observe what it really meant to be a Potions Master. Severus accepted her unprompted, even gracious acknowledgement of that fact when she added, "I can manage most of the prep work, I think, which leaves the delicate stuff in your capable hands…just got to set the slicer to parchment-thin…" with equanimity. He had other things to worry about.

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later…

Severus finally lowered the lid onto the slowly simmering cauldron. "That needs to simmer for 4 hours, at which point it must be stirred counter-clockwise 23 ½ times, and the last four ingredients added," he said as he pushed the lank, damp locks of hair out of his eyes. It had been a gruelling session, and he could feel the start of a tension headache now that he wasn't concentrating. If it hadn't been for Hermione's assistance, he would have collapsed nearly an hour ago. "Thank you Miss Granger, your assistance was invaluable."

The blush of complimented pleasure on her face was a wonder to behold; she's managed to 'stay with him' during the entire brewing process. Severus had to admit it was pleasant to work with someone who could at least follow where he led, academically.

"It was my pleasure. You're ruddy brilliant," she was saying as she moved closer to him, her praise honest and forthright.

She acknowledged the distance she had to go before she approached his skill didn't hurt, but when she brought her hands up to slide over his shoulders, he found himself freezing self-consciously. Luckily, she appeared to not notice as she took advantage of his momentary distraction, leading him over to a work stool whilst saying, "I've got a long way to go to be able to do that with such seeming effortlessness. But you look like you could use a good neck-rub, at the same time."

Using strength that her size belied, Hermione pushed him down by the shoulders until he was seated, and then proved she was adept at relieving tension platonically, as well as orally.

"There, that's better…I can get at all these muscles, now," she said as she began to work the sort of magic with those fingers that required nothing of the witch, only the woman. Severus, exhausted beyond measure from brewing and the thaumaturgical strength he'd infused into the brew, slumped forward against the bench. The shift in position allowed Hermione complete and free access to his neck, shoulders and back, an unconscious show of trust.

For the better part of the last twenty years, no one, and that included his parents, had touched him with such care as Hermione used, as she eased the tension and fatigue from his being. The feel of her fingers as they carded through his hair sent shivers of anticipation down his spine, shivers that were politely told to go bullocks off, as the rest of his body actually relaxed fully for the first time since Harry, the boy-whose-arse-had-to-be-well-and-truly-kissed, Potter had first come to Hogwarts. As Hermione's hands began to work up his arms and across his collarbone, he was pleasantly surprised to feel her body pressing against his. Without conscious control, a soft sigh escaped his lips, before he found himself arching his head and neck backwards, into the soft curves of her body.

Drifting in that place between slumber and wakefulness, Severus was only vaguely aware of the hardening of Hermione's nipples as they pressed into him. In fact, he'd have drifted completely off to sleep if she hadn't enquired huskily, "Upstairs would be a lot more comfortable for continuing this…"

Even with the fire of delight coursing from earlobe to groin, Severus was hard pressed to answer, "But getting there may be take more energy than I currently possess." He'd drained himself further than he wanted to admit, but he had to admit it. The witch had bewitched him into trusting her more than almost anyone else, other than may be Albus, and perhaps Poppy.

Hermione suggested the use of mobilicorpus, an idea he'd normally not even entertain, but sounded rather pleasant; maybe he'd catch a little more sleep. Nodding his head in assent he closed his eyes and continued to horde the remains of his magical strength. He heard her casting one of Pomfrey's blasted spells, but could afford to waste any energy getting riled. If she'd bothered to ask he could have told her what ailed him anyway but it seemed she, like women in general, just could ask a man what was wrong, they had to find out for themselves.

He finally felt the mobilicorpus take hold. Why she had bothered wasting energy doing diagnostics was beyond him. Nonplussed, Severus sagged back into the hammock of magic.

For a master spy, the fact that Miss Granger managed to get him to the kitchen and apparently heated up some form of Muggle food without his even being aware of the passage of time was a worrying thought; maybe he'd put a little too much of his anger against her dangerously idiotic friends into the brewing, for normally only the brewing of Wolfsbane and his Crucio counter-agent left him this depleted. Either his heavily spent elemental anger or Miss Granger's hands possessed some form of hidden magic he wasn't previously aware of… His speculation was derailed when the scent of spiced tomato reached his prodigious nose, spiced tomato and …something sausage-like, but not sausage. Whatever it was that he smelling, it was certainly working on his salivary glands.

"Hot Pocket, Professor?" Miss Granger teased as her face came into view whilst maneuvering his form a little more upright whilst in the grip of mobilicorpus.

One eloquently raised eyebrow tried to convey his reaction to the teasing, though he was certain the effect was lost as he unconsciously licked his lips. Food would help deal with his depleted reserves and that 'Hot Pocket' thing she was offering smelt rather good. She had, it seemed, noticed his movement for she brought the treat close.

"Caution, it's hot."

'That's not the only thing that's hot,' the part of his body that had so far been ignored responded, whilst the rest of him enjoyed being looked after. Maybe he wouldn't be forced to test his theory on the use of elemental magic to replenish a wizards energy, at least not tonight…though he still intended to carry through with that series of experiments. Maybe he should discuss them with Miss Granger. For now though, he let the strong minded Gryffindor 'mother' him. It was a pleasant treat in place of his normal regime of dealing with the aftermath of too much energy usage: drinking Pepper-Up potions, and snarking at anyone who dared disturb him whilst he recovered. How much she was mothering him was evident when she suddenly waved two glasses in front of him.

"Milk or Apple Juice?" she asked solicitously. This was better service than the house-elves gave him; at least, her service didn't come with a squeaky voice, a shapeless tea-towel, or that awful ear-pulling thing.

"Apple," he replied quietly, and was further treated as he was handed a glass of ice cold, surprisingly crisply-flavoured juice, nothing at all like the mass-produced flavour he associated with Muggle food. His tongue chased the liquid about his mouth as he attempted to identify the kind of apple used in the juice; giving up he asked, "What type of apple juice is this?"

"Fuji," she commented before wandering off into a babble of explanation. The only part of it which caught his attention was the mention that Muggles didn't drink pumpkin juice; that thought itself was totally foreign, highlighting again the subtle differences between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Still, he was too tired to pursue the comment, content as he was to just sit and wait for his energies to return, so tired that he didn't even react when Hermione re-engaged mobilicorpus and lifted him up the stairs once their impromptu meal was done.

The next thing that Severus was aware of, and that might have been pushing the definition slightly, was being gently lowered onto Hermione's bed, slightly crossways. The question of why she had a bed large enough to drape his long form across wandered across his befuddle mind, but as the bed was rather comfortable and the colour scheme owed nothing to any house allegiances, he relaxed into the softness rather than chase inane questions.

Sleep was beckoning seductively when a cool breeze tickled at his toes; Hermione had magicked away the firm, encasing, leather of his boots, exposing his socks to the air. His long, almost prehensile toes curled involuntarily at the temperature change before they settled into pattern of flexing and relaxing as he attempted to generate a little additional heat. The removal of his socks sent shivers of cold lancing through him, so much so that his entire body clenched in on itself in an attempt to stave off any further heat loss. Worse indignity, she performed a cleansing spell on his feet, robbing them further of their heat.

Waking up a little more grumpily, quite a normal reaction when rudely awoken through the injudicious application of cold to their extremities, Severus was about to snarl when all thought processes were shut down by Hermione's tongue: a tongue that was currently dancing about his pinky-toe in a manner far removed from the platonic. In fact, it probably qualified for downright lascivious.

He moaned. The deep base sound of it coming the depths of his chest, reverberating up his throat like the extremely contented purr of a Siberian Tiger after a good meal. The moan soon turned to a whimper as Hermione continued on her decadently oral way, introducing all sorts of new sensations to his already overloaded brainstem. The fact that his libido wanted to play was at complete odds with the rest of his being. His body felt weary and spent, as though he'd already engaged in repeated rounds of sexual conquest, and all it wanted to do was fall into a deep somnolent state, a state his libido was fighting tooth, nail and erectile tissue to avoid.

Unfortunately for his libido, his body finally won; the day's exertions, coupled with the intense draw upon his magical strengths to literally create a new potion, had led to a state of almost catatonic bliss. It was a bliss that owed its inception to the successful creation of their 'vengeance brew', and even now was being fed by the sexual caresses applied to his feet. Ignoring his whinging libido, Severus slipped quietly and contentedly into Morpheus' embrace. The last thing he was consciously aware of was a slight shifting of the bed as Hermione climbed onto it, her lips gently touching his.

Lying in a field of lavender, the sun beating down upon his naked chest, Severus breathed deeply of the clear mountain air; it had been so long since he'd been able to fully let go and relax. A gentle breeze danced across him, reminding him that whilst the sun beat down upon him, its warmth was illusion this late in autumn. A flick of thought and the soft, woolen throw rug he'd brought along on the picnic settled over him. He felt, rather than saw, his unseen companion slide in beside him, a gentle warmth at the nape of his neck. Drawing the warm body close, he settled down to sleep the afternoon away.

BEEP BEEP-

The clarion call to action pierced the autumn peace, his body reacting instinctively without a single guiding impluse from his brain. He reached for his wand and met empty air, but he wasn't the formidable wizard he was without having a trick or two up his sleeves, or not, as he finally registered his lack of clothing. Wandless, a wizard was nearly powerless; that was the accepted wisdom, but Severus was not one to accept anything calmly, and he had a broad spectrum stunning curse, wandlessly and wordlessly reaching out to fell such a startlingly noisy foe.

In many respects, laws of magic work like the laws of physics; thus, when Severus' undirected stunning spell hit a wall of magic it bounced backwards at the caster, knocking him from the bed. Sleep-drugged, his reactions were based on perceived threat, and the threat he perceived was high; Voldemort was dead but there were always others to take his place. Severus lashed out, aiming a spear of pure power at the ungodly sound that reverberated throughout the imprisoning cell his sleep-fuddled mind believed him to be in.

Silence, blessed silence descended, as the sound stilled. Or almost blessed silence; it was broken by a gasp of pain, a gasp that bought the world back into focus. 'Merlin's balls,' he swore silently as he sat up with the speed of a striking cobra. He knew the voice behind that feminine gasp.

The slight of blood dripping fro Hermione's arm galvanized him like no other force had; Severus reached out, attempting to draw back some of that lethal force he'd sent blindly at her, but it was too late; like the spoken word or the spent arrow, what had been sent could not be recalled. He watched in horror, for she had attempted to meet that power head on like a foolish Gryffindor; her own power reaching out and meeting his, the air crackling with the effort. But though he feared she would be engulfed in a conflagration of thaumaturgical power, somehow she shifted the fighting energies, and the combined magic was sent into a dizzying spin around her body; its only impact was on cotton and feather, as it clipped a corner of her pillow.

"Capture it, you bloody, hair-triggered moron! Like you did my rage!" Hermione hissed at him as the power ball continued to move, less lethal than before but still dangerous.

'Like her rage, she says,' he snorted as he observed the power-ring that they had created. She had temporary control of it, but if it wasn't contained, he doubted the house would remain standing. Wandlessly, he reached inside himself to create a vessel suitable to contain the force that spun almost out of control. Even as thought became reality and the ball of power was sucked into the magical 'black hole' Severus silently enchanted into existence in front of him, that part of him that was innately Slytherin, and which had survived over twenty years in Voldemort's service, shuddered at the thought of the what he and Hermione could accomplish if they ever put their minds to it. When the last of the power-torus had been sucked into the vortex awaiting it, Severus thought that the singularity of power that he held stationary in front of him could quite possibly bring Albus to his knees, not just Voldemort.

Standing, he turned to face Hermione with a miniature galaxy of power, the size of a grapefruit, held in the air before him. "…Like this?" he asked as he let his eyebrow do the talking.

Her response was not what he expected; with almost Slytherin like ease she snagged and twisted the guilt centres of his brain as she lifted her still bleeding arm into view. "Like this?" she growled in reply.

'That growl hadn't been necessary,' he thought as he watched her reach awkwardly for her wand with her other hand. Rather than let her suffer another moment of pain due to his instinctive reactions, for which he'd be damned before he'd apologize over even if he regretted said pain, he sculpted and sent back some of that glorious energy he held towards her, shaping it into a healing spell as it flowed.

Whilst he'd never had a source of 'bottled' magic this strong before, he had, during his extended research into Hermione's elemental magics theory, had time to workout the basics of what could, and could not be done with bottled power – at least in theory. Theory quickly proved to be correct in the general sense, and a little off in the application, as the healing spell not only healed Hermione's arm, it siphoned most of the captured energy into itself, to the point where the charm also restored the pillows and sheets of the bed to their former pristine glory. Medical spells shouldn't have been able to do that sort of a repair job…but apparently this one had. It had to be the power-source for the spell. The possibilities excited him, even as they worried him.

Frowning in confusion, Hermione looked up at him. "What did you do? What kind of spell was that?"

"A general healing spell," he replied echoing her frown. He meant to heal the damage his instinctive response to danger had caused her but… given her reaction, he may have 'healed' more than he'd planned. The look on her face as she cast the general diagnostic spell from earlier, this time on herself, confirmed his suspicions. She looked stunned, and if his powers of observation hadn't totally deserted him, he was now a hair's breadth away from either excruciating pain or pleasure.

Whilst he was preparing to jump, just in case excruciating pain was the one on offer, he was startled when a deep, cultured, and rather peeved-sounding voice cut across the tension in the room.

"…Are you done trashing the room? Because if not, I wouldn't mind seeing it you trash the rest of it," the voice enquired snidely. "Leastwise, it wouldn't be nearly so boring as staring at this bloody wall. And if you haven't yet exploded that blasted stuffed rabbit I would appreciate that as well," it went on, "as no mortal man should have to associate so closely with such a bilious shade of pink!"

BEEP BEEP-

Severus, his nerves already stretched to their breaking point by the infernal Muggle racket, reacted. His wand was in his hand and the curse mouthed so fast it seemed almost like wandless magic: the bunny was toast. Pink toast; lurid, fluorescent, lycra pink toast (if he'd ever seen a pair of Muggle bathers). Sybil Trelawney pink, and smoking – pink.

"Don't you mean, no mortal man should have to associate so closely with that shade of pink?" Severus asked 'nicely'. "And if you make anymore snide comments you can associate even more closely with it!" His meaning was fairly clear.

That was when the threat level in the room skyrocketed like Albus' blood-sugar levels after an Order meeting. Hermione Granger turned to face him, having dealt with the racket causing machine and, whilst thoroughly naked, managed to glare a glare worthy of Severus himself.

"You just ruined-with magic-the last item of my magicless childhood!" she yelled, before continuing her rant in some language that Severus had never heard before. It sounded like English, but what she said didn't make much sense: "My dad won that for me at a country faire down at one of the midway pitching games, right before we left. He used to be quite a good hurler on the dentistry department's cricket team in college. The moment we got home, that was when I got my owl for Hogwarts. That bunny represented the last normal moment of my life. And you just smoked my bunny!"

Not wanting to incur more of her babbling wrath, he blinked at her whilst trying to work out the least undiplomatic way he could say, 'What the blazers are you talking about?'

He was saved from an ignominious, instant death, when Hermione asserted, "Well, guess what? You're just going to have to go to a county faire and win me another one! Without magic!"

No, correction; it seemed he was in for slow, painful and highly embarrassing, ignominious death.

And then… Hermione Granger's lower lip quivered. A grin quickly followed, and before he could workout what was going on, the girl fell onto the bed, doubled over in laughter. Wiping what look suspiciously like tears from her eyes, she finally regained control of herself and commented "…Seriously, you do owe me a new midway bunny." Standing, Hermione continued as she walked towards the door, "But we've got that ruddy potion to take care of, which is going to be ruined if we don't get downstairs immediately."

Severus, not one to look a gift horse, or in this case 'arse', in the mouth, was torn between commenting about their current lack of clothing (for safety sake) and enjoying the highly pleasant view of Hermione's well-formed and uniquely tattooed rear end. 'I may not have actually branded her', he thought possessively, 'but I can make damn sure no-one else ever gets to see that.' His pleasure was somewhat short-lived, however, as the girl processed to exhibit a well developed skill for wand waving; one moment he was naked, the next clothed in a manner appropriate for brewing havoc. Fully clothed, right down to his socks and shoes. He didn't miss the smirk either that she flashed his way as she headed out the door; it seemed the girl had an almost Slytherin competitive streak in her. 'This could be fun,' he thought as he followed her back to 'her dungeon'. She had a lot of potential; it would be fun coaxing it into bloom.

Severus sighed in quite satisfaction when, as the last few ingredients added, the potion turned a lurid pink that was only a shade or two lighter than the abomination he'd hexed upstairs. Still, it was done and it would do the job – magnificently. Now to bottle it appropriately.

Hermione Granger showed, to his delight, what an effective assistant she could be, when she approached the work area carrying a fistful of Muggle objects, slews or screws or something. "What's the size of the dosage for each person?"

"Two tablespoons," Severus answered, "I've adjusted the formula so that it feeds back on the 'patient' and blocks absorption once the required dose has entered the blood stream; two tablespoons will ensure twelve months of 'pleasure' for the largest of those cretins." He was rather pleased with himself for that little refinement; it made dosing the fools so much easier. No worrying about weight, diet and all those other things that Pomfrey kept nattering on about (not that he was going to let that self-opinionated woman know that he could cut her workload in half).

"Right. One-ounce bottles coming up," Hermione said as she grabbed a tray and spilt the steely Muggle things across the surface; as soon as theys topped rattling noisily, she swept her wand shaft over the bits of metal. "Ampullae unumunciae ex torquerum!" The things transformed into thin, strong, silvery-metallic vials of the required size. Open-mouthed vials.

Before Severus could comment about the lack of closing device Hermione had turned again to the drawers, hunting something else out and muttering over them with a flick of her wand. At least this time he recognized the devices she returned with as some sort of sealing closure. As efficiently as she'd created the bottles, she created caps to seal them with.

Then she got a look in her eye, a look he well recognized. She had an idea. "Accio Medicum Imperium!"

That called a text to her, a text that she'd have to have found in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, if he recalled the title correctly; what she was doing with a copy would have been one of many interesting questions. A question he normally would have voiced; however it was rare to watch someone in the process of 'creation', and rare enough that he decided he'd rather watch than ask, this time around. Focused, she read, and probably re-read, the charm or charms she was interested in, practicing each component seperately. Her hands moved to memorize the wand movements; her lip moved to practice the words. Then, like a virtuoso, she cast, and the charms took hold.

"…Perfect," she echoed his earlier sigh of satisfaction, studying her creations.

Knowing the sheer, unadulterated joy that came from having successfully created a new form, be it potion or charm, Severus stood silent and let the girl bask in her own glory, basking a tiny bit in it himself, too. Not that he'd ever admit to that under anything less than imperio.

After a moment, Hermione came back to herself and probably realized that he had no idea what she'd actually done…another thing that not that he'd ever admit to unless under imperio. Either way, she didn't make him ask what she'd done; she simply started to explain in pedagogical tones.

"I've enchanted the bottles to react to their contents, and to those contents being drunk. It's actually a trio of charms that I've synthesized. The first one will register when the contents are drunk," she lectured like a pro. "The second one, which I needed this book for, is to ensure that the hand holding the bottle and the lips drinking the potion come from the same witch or wizard…and the necks of the vials are too small to not touch them, because the drinker will have to suck some of the liquid out to get it flowing down their throats.

"The third charm in the synthesis, triggered by the other two, will allow the same person who holds and drinks from the bottle to pass through the Gaulish wards I placed around the parlour." She flashed him a smile. "Sort of like a key being placed in a lock, only it's built to open for just one person at a time. If they want out…they'll have to drink."

Severus bowed his head to her. "Very nice Miss Granger, very nice indeed. I'm sure Salazaar himself would approve of you," he complemented her as highly as only the head of House Slytherin could do.

"Thank you, Professor. I do try to be devious on occasion," the girl 'snarked' back affectionately, "Especially with you for a role-model, in that regards."

He'd give her an affectionate snark, and show her how to do it properly: "When trying to get Gryffindors where you want them one has to employ the right tools," he quipped in return. He realized she probably meant his decades of spying, a time when deviousness was his first, last and middle name, but he wasn't going to pass up a chance at a free shot on her rival House… and it worked. A combination of smile and frown twisted her features ruefully. It was an almost charming look, for her.

Clearing her throat, Hermione gestured at the bottles. "Shall we fill them, then?"

"Yes, let's," he replied in a rare spirit of mischief.

Senses fully alert, in the manner of one who still hadn't quite grasped the fact that the 'good-guys' had won, Severus apparated into the thankfully silent kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place with Hermione Granger. Silent, that was, until he became aware of a dull thumping sound coming from the hallway; the hallway near where they had left 'incarcerated' their test subjects. Hermione looked at him questioningly, but as he really had no idea, though he had a dreadful premonition of who was thumping and why, he simply shrugged his shoulders, taking care not to overly disturbe the brewed vengeance he carried.

'Finally, she seems to have learnt some caution,' he thought to himself as he watched Hermione draw her wand before she tentatively opened the kitchen door.

The sight that greeted him as he followed the girl into the corridor was one straight from his premonition of hell: Albus Dumbledore stood at the parlour door, thumping on it. Apparently Dumbledore knew Morse code too; that was a worrying thought, given that Severus had learnt it (as had every other male student at Hogwarts) as a means of warning those in the Prefects Bathroom of approaching teachers… It was the one point of student solidarity that had every crossed House boundaries: no one wanted anyone getting caught in flagrante delicto in the head. He didn't really want to think of Albus engaged in those sorts of activities, though.

{tap}{tap}{tap}{tap}… (H)

{tap}… (E)

{tap}{THUMP}{tap}{tap}…(L)

{tap}{THUMP}{THUMP}{tap}… (P)

{tap}{tap}{tap}… (S)

…

{tap}{tap}{tap}{tap}… (H)

{tap}… (E)

{tap}{THUMP}{tap}… (R)

{tap}… (E).

As both Severus and Hermione cautiously approached, Albus turned to them, temporarily ignoring the answering taps from the bodies trapped inside the parlour. "Miss Granger, Severus…would you happen to know why there's a bunch of people bottled up in this room?"

It was all Severus could do to mask the tremendous urge to burst into laughter, at Albus' question.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bottler_

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the parlour door, thumping on it gently so as not to awaken the portrait of Mrs. Black. Someone on the other side of the door thumped back, no doubt attempting some primitive form of Morse code communication. He turned, a puzzled look creasing his aged brow, as he was approached. "Miss Granger, Severus…would you happen to know why there's a bunch of people bottled up in this room?"

Severus, at that moment, decided that fate didn't like him; in fact she really must have it in for him, what with Albus waiting outside the dunderhead-ridden room. Years of maintaining his cool whilst under fire, however, came to his rescue. Giving no outward indication of his inner turmoil, he quickly considered and discarded various ruses. The problem was that Albus was well versed in seeing through Severus and his explanations. He was saved any ignominy, though, by Miss Granger suddenly voicing, "It's the Snickersnee, Headmaster!"

The Headmaster might have looked askance at him for such an outrageous claim, but he accepted it, hook, line and stinker, from the Gryffindor know-it-all.

"Yes Headmaster," he said calmly, "we were luckily able to contain it to that room, but unfortunately a number of people were adversely affected. You caught us just as we were about to deliver the antidote." He kept the expression on his face a bland mask of boredom.

"We've already taken the antidote ourselves, so we're safe to enter and risk exposure to the spores," Hermione added, "but, erm, I'm afraid we don't have enough brewed for you, too. So, if you could vacate the corridor, for your own safety?"

Severus was impressed, Miss Granger had hidden depths. 'I'll make a Slytherin of her yet', he thought to himself as he watched her pull the wool over the Headmaster's eyes. "Of course," Severus said with more than a hint of snark, "having to waste my time brewing an antidote for a room full of Gryffindors-who are patently too stupid to actually consider that something in this house might be dangerous before fiddling with it-when I'd rather be enjoying the fruits of my labours on behalf of the Order over the past years, does not exactly sit well with me."

Albus took one look at the banked fury in Severus' eyes and actually stepped back.

"If you wouldn't mind vacating the area, Headmaster," a touch of respect in his tone, only a very small touch, "and keeping any nosy busybodies away whilst we administer the antidote and decontaminate the area, we would appreciate it… Sir."

Albus, who would have been well aware of the horror that was Snickersnee having lived through the last major outbreak, beat a hasty retreat from the area. He might have been one of the greatest wizards that ever lived, but Severus was sure that even Albus would not like the thought of contracting a dose of Snickersnee. In point of fact, even without the aid of Legilimency, Severus was able to predict exactly what was going through Albus' mind. He was all too well aware of the epidemiology of Snickersnee, and he would have run as well. In its early stages, the symptoms were relatively benign: namely, plaid skin tones and exceedingly reduced inhibition levels. It was the later stages that people feared.

Dying in eventual agony, for the male suffers at least, as a result of the septicaemia that would result when the pustulant boils that would erupt on the victim's priapismic penis finally exploded and allowed the Snickersnee spores to enter the blood stream directly. Females were considered-by male sufferers anyway-to be lucky as they never really appreciated how painful the symptoms were when they were localised to one or two boils on the clitoris. Yes, Albus departed quickly, leaving the two plotters in peace.

Severus watched joyfully, or as close to joyfully as he was able, as Hermione added additional verisimilitude to their tale by going through the process of casting warding and decontamination charms whilst he stood by holding the tray of antidote vials. He had two extra vials tucked into one of his robe pockets that contained nothing more that a bit of apple juice. If they needed to convince the fools that the only way to leave was to drink the potion they had brought with them, then they'd drink the juice; it was the act of drinking something from the vials that would allow them through the wards, after all.

It was the little touches that made a plan really come together. When Hermione finally opened a portal into the room, he followed behind her and stood back to enjoy the view. It was the stuff to warm the heart of many a cold-hearted, Slytherin bastard. Such as himself.

The boy-who-snapped and his paramour were as far as possible from each other, given the confines of the room. Neville, with typical Gryffindor subtlety-that is to say none whatsoever-was casting puppy love glances at Harry. It took a fair amount of Severus' fortitude not to lose the contents of his stomach at the sickening display. The sight of Finnegan also trying to edge closer to the Boy-Who-Might-Like-Arse was something he'd rather not contemplate. Severus was just glad that none of his Slytherins were in the room, there was more than one who might have considered Potter a worthwhile conquest, if, he did actually catch for the other team. The youngest Weasley was seated as far away from Potter's sidekick, there must be a story in that, whilst fending off looks from the Sybil clone Miss Brown.

Most of the others in the room seemed to find their shoes inordinately interesting; so much so that Severus was tempted to point out that if they'd studied Potions half as well as they were currently studying their shoes, he'd have had to take them all into his advanced class. The final cast member, Ronald Weasley, was obviously suffering the after-effects of the prolonged drinking bout that had precipitated the entire farce. The look of desperation became even more marked, Severus noted, when the male noticed him walk in behind Miss Granger.

After considering the tableau before him, and weighing up the instant gratification of letting his scathing tongue have its way against the possible pleasures said tongue might enjoy later with regards to the young woman beside him, Severus decided to forego scaring the last wits out of the fools. Instead, he indicated with a quickly raised eyebrow that Hermione could do the honours with regards to terrorising the dunderheads. She, after all, was supposedly the wounded party in this and sometimes revenge was best served by sitting back and enjoying the show. Hermione was probably aware that he intended to just enjoy the spectacle but he didn't mind if she understood him that well, it would save communication problems later. Miss Granger stood tall-or as tall as she could-and proudly as she faced the room; he glowered at her audience over her head and smiled 'nicely' at Ron Weasley as the young man staggered forward.

Ron Weasley staggered back.

"Don't even bother, Ron," Hermione said dryly. "The whole room is warded. There is only one way to leave: you must drink… a toast to our happiness."

Severus stood quietly when Hermione stepped back and reached into his robe to snag the vials of apple juice that rested in his inner pocket; he hoped she didn't notice the slight bulge her actions had encouraged into life. Showing no sign of discomfort-either she hadn't noticed, or she was not going to react in front of the crowd-she pulled out the two vials of apple juice. She unscrewed the cap on one and lifted it in salutation.

"You must hold your own vial, like so," she began to explain falling into pedagogical tones. "Unscrew the cap … and drink, draining it dry. Then, while still holding your own bottle, you will be free to step through the door. No one else can drink the potion for you… and if you don't hold the same exact bottle that you drank from, you will not be able to leave."

Severus was impressed. Hermione had even managed to keep the instruction to words of two syllables, or less. She obviously knew her audience.

Hermione drunk the contents down, a soft sigh escaping her lips; it sounded like she had just drunk from the fountains of Nirvana. Having supposedly taken a dose of the potion required to activate the portal from the room, Hermione proceeded to demonstrate its effectiveness, that she could now leave the room. She smiled with Slytherin sweetness from the other side of the door.

Severus noticed the disquiet and discomfiture of the young Weasley male as he tried to sneak past him, and how the freckled idiot was unceremoniously forced back when he bumped into an invisible barrier that still blocked his exit from the room. He went on to smirk when he saw that Ron was now watching the two of them warily. It seemed the young male Weasley still had some functioning neurones if he was worried about what Severus and Hermione had been up to whilst he and his cohorts had languished here at Grimmauld Place.

Severus decided to give the fool a little prod along. "You could always just piss on the floor," he said crudely, "I do so enjoy the sight of fully grown men cowering before Molly Weasley's wrath." When that failed to hurry the little twerp, Severus, after setting the tray of vials down on piecrust table near the door, quickly downed his own vial of juice and strode out of the room. His cloak billowing sensually about him, he decided to enjoy a little of those fruits of labour that he had mentioned to Albus earlier.

Stepping up close to Hermione, he gently cupped her chin with his left hand and lifted it slightly. Allowing his gaze to capture hers, he bent his head ever so slowly down so that his lips brushed against hers. He let his tongue slip between his own lips to brush sensuously along her lower lip; without words, he asked permission to enter the Promised Land. Her lips parted in acquiescence and his forces moved in through the breach to plunder deeply all that they found.

Her hands wrapped themselves into the fabric of his frock coat as she melted against him. He took that as a signal to continue the assault, regardless of, or possibly in spite of, the audience. He let his tongue play about her mouth; sending it deep into the recesses, pulling it back to tango with her tongue, and occasionally inviting her to reciprocate. After a while, all thoughts of the dunderheads, who probably looked on in the same sort of horror one usually reserved for train crashes, receded from his consciousness. All he was aware of was his need to claim the young woman in his arms.

Finally, the need for oxygen drove him to end the kiss, though it did nothing to abate his need to mark her as his, and his alone. He drew a deep breath, then began to acquaint himself intimately with the skin that was lucky enough to grace the right side of her throat; teasingly, he nipped and lipped at her throat until he worked his way to the collar of her shirt, a collar that was way too tight in his mind. The hand which had been caressing her face drifted down to work the top button loose; then, given he wanted more access, the second and third button were also undone.

The creamy expanse flesh that he exposed silently cried out to be branded. Preferrably by his lips and teeth.

His greater height meant that he needed to bend down low to enjoy the flesh offered up, his left arm stiffened to support her weight as she leant back; her left leg rose up onto his hip as she probably sought to gain a sense of balance. When he felt sure she was secure, he allowed his lips to follow the line of her collarbone, until he reached the strap of her bra. Severus nudged cloth out of the way as he continued to kiss her skin. His hand reached in through her opened neckline to cup her breast, his fingers sliding under the silvery-grey cloth to caress the underside of her other breast as his mouth traversed down the line of her brassiere.

The taste of her flesh was as sweet as her remembered; her body as responsive as he felt her buck against him. An animalistic need stake his claim on her finally overrode any consideration as a gentleman. He fastened his mouth on the soft, succulent flesh that escaped from beneath her bra and began to suckle like a newborn babe. He felt her breath shudder through her chest, he heard her whimper and moans as he ran his tongue over the flesh he was marking, he felt the slackening of her stance as pleasure rocked through her, and knew she was his. But taking her in a hallway wasn't right, for her first time.

As she panted in his arms he nuzzled his way back up her body that sagged replete in his arms. Purring into her ear he said, "Just marking my place for later…"

Having righting her, he stepped back and surveyed his territory; it looked suitably claimed. He'd planted his marker with a passion that only a true Slytherin could display. He didn't even bother to check on those voyeuristic idiots-he safely assumed they would have been watching, horrified, as he and Miss Granger had danced the tango before them-he simply moved with a billowing grace that belied the difficulty he was having walking, as he allowed Hermione to drag him through the kitchen, past the Floo and out the backdoor. From there, they both Apparated away.

Severus reached out and snagged Hermione as she led the way up the stairs, "Just a moment Miss Granger," he said with liquid silk. "There is one small matter that must be dealt with before we go any further."

"What small matter?" Hermione asked looking back over her shoulder, a look of confusion crossing her features.

"Just the small matter of that abomination that hangs in your room, Miss Granger," Severus said with a cauldron load of implacable steel. "I have no intention of performing for an audience, even an audience of myself."

"I can move it to the guest room-" Hermione started to say before Severus interrupted.

"-Moved? I don't want the bloody thing moved! I want it destroyed!" He was still uncomfortable with the fact the thing existed in the first place. Once more than one person knew a secret, the entire world knew it; that was one of the pearls of wisdom the Muggles had worked out.

It appeared Miss Granger wasn't particularly happy with that idea. She turned to face him fully, and-squaring her shoulders as if readying herself for a fight-said, "I'll destroy it on one condition."

"You want to set conditions? The very existence of that thing is enough to get me sent to Azkaban. I may not enjoy having to teach generation after generation of Longbottoms but even that is preferable to another stay in Azkaban," Severus said reasonably. "Either it goes or I do."

"Would you bloody well hear me out?" Hermione snapped. The young lioness had a temper it seemed.

Drawing himself up to his full, impressive, height, Severus folded his arms across his chest-in no way, shape or form could the gesture be seen as a defensive move-and allowed his left eyebrow arch up; his stance said clearly, 'well, I'm waiting.' Waiting like a Muggle hand-grenade with the pin pulled.

Hermione obviously got the hint as she quickly moved to explain, "Listen, I'm well aware of the danger to your reputation, if that particular portrait comes to light. But… I'll destroy it if you promise to sit for a new one."

'Sit for a new one?' he thought to himself, 'she actually wants a portrait of me?' The very idea didn't make sense; sane people wanted to _forget_ ever having had to deal with Professor Severus Snape as soon as humanly possible, on graduating from Hogwarts.

Whist he was still turning the idea over in his head looking for the logical flaws, Miss Granger continued. "A _formal_ sitting," she said with some degree of emphasis. "You're not my teacher anymore, and my having a portrait of you made after I've left Hogwarts would not be inappropriate.

"I'll go up there and burn it myself," she offered, "if you swear on your honour you'll sit for a new one that I'll get to keep in its place… and… it wouldn't be amiss if you took a look at my and Colin's notes and helped us figure out what's wrong with our formulae. It's not a requirement like the sitting is, more of a request." She looked at him hopefully.

"Let me get this straight," Severus said as he finished processing her request. "You want a formal wizarding portrait of me?" Snape, the master of control, cringed at the tone of surprise in his voice. "Why?"

"Severus," Hermione said softly as she lifted her hand to caress his cheek, the gesture was soft and gentle, like a summer's breeze or a mother's kiss. "Eventually, you're going to leave me. Whether it's to return to the school and never see me again, or just going as far as the lavatory, I'm going to miss you, while you're gone. I'd like to know I have a little part of you to look upon, and talk to, even if it's just a personality-enchanted copy of your face."

When her thumb feathered over his lips he felt them part of their own volition and he leant forward slightly. That step she stood upon placed her at just the right height he decided as her lips pressed against his. "I miss you when I can't see you, and I miss you when I can't hear you…and I miss you when I can't touch you, even when I'm standing near you." She continued to speak, her lips dancing over his, before she pulled back and licked his lower lip. "And I'll certainly miss tasting you, now that I've had the pleasure of your kiss."

She might have intended to draw further back but Severus was having none of that. As she had leant into him he had let his arms drift about her; she now stood encircled in his embrace. When she went to lick his lower lip he darted his head forward he capture her tongue between his teeth; with slow, deliberate nips he drew her tongue deeply into his mouth, feasting on the taste that was Miss Granger. "The pleasure has been all mine," he murmured into her open mouth, "…a pleasure I intend to allow myself to appreciate fully."

"Oh, god," Hermione sighed as she wrapped her own arms about his back.

Being the sneaky Slytherin he was, Severus took advantage of her unspoken acquiescence. Using his right arm to support her back and neck he leant forward and slightly to the right forcing her to rely on him for balance and stability, all the while maintaining contact with her soft, pliant lips. The move, carefully orchestrated, allowed him to bring his other arm around so that he could sweep her off her feet, literally. Settling her against his chest he carried her up the stairs; years of hefting cauldrons paying off as he was able to effortlessly carry the girl up to her bedroom.

He stopped at her door, the symbolic threshold that he would carry her over. When next she left that room she would no longer be a child, not in any sense. For the first time in almost a lifetime, he allowed concern for another to show on his face. Looking deeply into her eyes he asked with great formality, "Miss Granger, will you grant me the gift of leading you to adulthood?"

Hermione's reply was just what he would have expected from the young know-it-all. "On two conditions," she said, "One, you call me Hermione, and two, you promise sit for me as soon as reasonable, so I can destroy that portrait as soon as we're inside. And three…I'm an adult and have been one in the wizarding world since shortly after the start of my sixth year. You're going to carry me in there and lead me into the joys of womanhood, thank you very much! And I'll thank you even more to get on with it."

Severus had to sigh. 'Never ask a Gryffindor a simple question,' he thought to himself. "A yes or no answer was all that had been required. Of-age is what you have been Hermione," he said gently. "Adulthood is more than just age; your childhood has never been what is should have been, and you and your compatriots have had to grow up faster than necessary, but in the wizarding world the final passage to adulthood is marked with the loss of the body's innocence, male or female. So I ask you again, will you grant me the gift of leading you to adulthood? Without compulsion or fear will you grant me the gift of leading you to adulthood?"

"Why is my permission so important to you?" Hermione asked, her face a mask of confusion.

"Because, Hermione, the rite of passage can be a power and a blessing or it can be a curse; the strongest witches and wizards can be twisted, maimed or broken as they lose their innocence. There is, after all, a reason that many a dark wizard has arisen from my house and it is has nothing to do with a child being inherently evil at eleven. This breaking…it is not something I wish to see happen to you.

"It won't happen," Hermione replied quietly. "I know you won't let it. And you had my permission when you spun the bottle that second time. I thought you were going to ask me if I'd mind you collecting my virginal blood. Which you can have half of, but only half, since it is ruddy expensive otherwise, and I'd like some of the profit by it." Before he could do, or say anything, to sooth the frown that settled on her brow, she continued saying, "And I entered adulthood the moment I killed Dolohov."

He wasn't really going to be able to contradict that, he realised, given his history; his first kill had been before his sexual maturity as well, though he wasn't ready to mention that fact to her-his kill, unlike hers, hadn't been in self-defence, but in initiation to something he'd rather forget. His maudlin thoughts though weren't given time to take further hold, as Hermione was still speaking.

"I suppose there's something wrong about a virgin killing before she's been deflowered, but it was done. So, yes, you have my permission, Severus, for what little is left of the final threshold I can cross."

He would never admit, not even under the influence of Crucio, but her ready acceptance removed any doubts about what he and the young woman in his arms were about to do. "I suspect that threshold will be well and truly crossed tonight," he murmured into her ear as he stepped into her room.

Hermione shivered in his arms though he was certain the room temperature had little to do with her reaction. He briefly wondered if Hermione gave any thought to the future beyond this night; he had little knowledge of the customs of Muggles, apart from what he'd had to learn back in the dim dark past in Muggle Studies, but he had vague memories of similar traditions with respect to the carrying of a beloved one over the threshold. The question he had to ask himself was, did he have any thoughts about a future with her? Just the fact that he was contemplating an extended liaison sent fierce shivers of something though him-even the now thoroughly deceased Dark Lord had failed to send such a shiver of fear rippling through his bones.

The strange path his thoughts were taking was luckily interrupted by Hermione, who craning her neck over his shoulders, instructed him to set her down.

"I think not, Miss Granger," he purred. "I rather like having you at my mercy; you wouldn't want me to drop you, would you?"

Whatever answer she night have made was cut across by a snarkily familiar voice, "I'd rather you dropped Miss Ganger, than dropping anything else."

Before he had chance to react Hermione snarled "-Ingrate!" whilst squirming so much that he was forced to set her down before he did, inadvertently, drop the girl. Showing just how fast and skillful she was with a wand-he wondered sardonically, would she handle his wand as confidently-Hermione had hers out, aimed and spell-casting before he had her feet firmly planted on the floor. The painting was separated from the Muggle Poster that backed it, the poster sent back to the wall, the painting incinerating as she murmured, "It's been fun, but it's time for something new. Thank you for being an unwitting test-subject…"

Something akin to worry crossed her features as she turned to face him; possibly she was worried about how he'd react to the destruction of her wizarding portrait of himself. 'She really shouldn't have worried,' he thought, rather glad the monstrosity was no more. "Thank you Miss Granger," he said nodding his head at the small pile of ash before he allowed his eyes to travel back up her body until his gaze rested on the spot where he had so recently marked his territory. "Now where were we?"

"Calling me Hermione," his companion said rather forcibly as she grabbed the lapels of his frock coat and began to tug at its buttons. "What do I have to do to convince you to call me by my name?"

"I'm sure I can think of something, Miss Granger." The last, her name, was said with slow, deliberate grace, rolling his tongue lovingly about the 'r'. "Perhaps a touch of summer wine?" he continued as he licked his lips and let his infamous eyebrow quirk upward, ever so slightly.

"Summer wine? What's summer wine?" Hermione asked in obvious confusion.

"Why that sweet, summer wine I tasted earlier," Severus said as his gaze flowed back down her torso until it lingered at her groin.

She actually managed not to whimper; he was rather disappointed, he must be losing his touch. In fact she managed to retain sufficient self possession to be able to silently spell his buttons away. "_Hermione_, not 'Miss Granger'. If you don't get it right, I'll have to find some way of correcting you until you do!" she had the temerity to say as his frock coat fell open.

"Would you rather I called you Mrs Snape," he asked archly, determined to rattle the girl. 'Where the blazes did _that_ question come from?' his mind screamed at him as the words left his mouth. He wasn't able to come up with a suitable answer; for Merlin's sake, he wasn't able to come up with any answer to his internal question, but part of him-that part he thought James Potter and his band had tortured, killed, buried and desecrated-had the unmitigated gall to sit up and hope.

"Well Severus,' he thought to himself, 'you definitely managed to rattle her then, didn't you?' The supreme Slytherin in him wondered at what game he was playing. His generally silent heart-that bit that had been thoroughly Pottered in the past-was trying to work out whether it could get away with tying up the rest of his psyche up, placing it in a full body bind, and tossing the whole thing into the lake at Hogwarts-latched onto Hermione's rather graceless declaration of, "-Well, yes, actually!" and blurted out in return, "-I'll see what I can do!"

Then, because the occasion really called for some sort of reaction, Severus stepped forward to capture her lips and plundered them; he used his greater weight ruthlessly and pushed Hermione backward until she lay across her bed.

When he determined that she was sufficiently mussed, he pushed himself up, his arms resting either side of her torso, and looked deeply into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and her skin flushed. Severus smiled lazily at the picture she presented.

Never challenge a lioness-he should have remembered that from his days as a student and having to deal with Lily Evans. Hermione Granger definitely characterised the spirit of her house; lust-glazed she still managed to retain enough strength of will to be able to cast the disrobing spell, "Sartorlagen!"

One moment he was fully closed and leaning over Hermione in a position of power, the next he was fully naked. But as no Slytherin worth their salt relied on their state of dress to exude a sense of power he gained rather than lost something in the transaction; his skin, scarred, naked and pale, lay against hers…and the feelings of lust that washed over him were communicated to Hermione quite clearly as his manhood hardened against her.

"Such impatience," Severus whispered, lingering over the sibilants. "Surely you would rather savour the sensations slightly longer?"

The soft moans of pleasure that his sweet whispering elicited was everything a hot blooded male could hope for. As her head had tilted back, exposing the lush line of neck just begging to be tasted, Severus slithered forward as she writhed beneath him, begging him to make love to her with his voice; a task he was only to glad to perform. Slowly, he slavered his tongue up the line of her carotid artery, until he was nibbling at her pulse point. "Sweet, soft, sensual succubus," he hissed into her neck.

"Isn't that the cat calling the cauldron black, Mr. I'm-A-Ruddy-Incubus?" Hermione's breathless voice washed over him, distracting him only slightly from the pleasures of her flesh.

"I suspect that you are suffering delusions, Hermione," Severus said softly, still emphasising the sibilants. "I'm no Incubus, though gossip has it I might be a vampire." Then, to prove the point, he nipped lightly at her neck, just barely drawing blood to the surface; wordlessly, he incanted a claiming charm. She was his, and anyone with even a miniscule degree of sensitivity was going to be aware of the fact, aware like a bludger to the back of the head, delivered full-force by Fred Weasley, should they dare to touch her without permission.

The body beneath him shivered and convulsed as frenzied steps of the pre-coital dance were performed. Hands clutched at his back and buttocks. The angle of Hermione's body shifted, opening the dewy petals to him, allowing the slick, pre-cum coated head of his penis to rub against her clitoris and to slide dangerously close to the heart of her womanhood; the heat of her teased and seduced him, drove him to the pinnacle of his control, but not beyond.

As the glorious moment of completeness was upon him, Severus' phenomenal self-control kicked in; years of service to two masters had ingrained in him the ability to subjugate his body to his will, and it was only that which prevented him from taking Hermione Granger virginity and damning the consequences to Hades and back. The gift of her virgin blood was too precious a thing to throw away on a moments whim, however. Stilling the movements of his body, Severus dropped his head to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead, "Hermione, as much as I wish to complete this…if we are to use you virgin blood, I must stop now."

The girl sighed softly and stretched as he limbered his hard, needy, body off of hers; to make matters worse, she appeared to be settling in to sleep as she snuggled down into the bedding. 'I thought that was a man's prerogative,' he thought sardonically to himself. Any further thoughts of self congratulations were driven from his mind as the almost somnolent girl asked "-Did you just enchant me, somehow?"

'Of course she had to bloody well notice', he admonished himself. She was, after all, an over achiever when it came to noticing things. "Yes," he replied softly, the truth after all was oft-times more deceptive than a lie, "You did accuse me of being a demonic being, Hermione. Though in this case I have no demonic intentions; it is just that there are spells that will ease the release of your powers."

He almost snickered as Hermione responded by doing a fair imitation of himself; her brows rose, giving her a slightly sardonic expression. Just as he was about to comment, Hermione seemingly relaxed back against the bedding on which she lay; relaxed in the studied way that a cat would 'ignore' the world. He had to admire the way in which she arched her back, displaying her pert breasts to him, unknowingly drawing his attention to the loving mark he had placed there earlier. Her legs parted slightly, letting him settle more comfortably over her and her lips parted as they smiled, "I'll trust you," she said. "Tell me what you're going to do, and I'll let you do it."

Leaning into to kiss those pouty lips, Severus murmured, "I am going to sate your senses, sip slowly the sweetly scented sap that flows from you my young succubus. In short, I'm going to love you." The last was said very softly.

His words worked liked magic, "Oh, god, Severus!" Hermione said as she shuddered beneath him. "Love me!" she gasped, as her hands clutched at his ribs, her mouth nipped at his. "Please, love me, Severus…love me as I love you."

'Man was not meant to survive this sort of torment', he thought. 'He was not meant for this sort of torment!' The girl-woman-beneath him was bewitching his mind, ensnaring his senses, and he found he hadn't the power to resist. He had found a partner who could understand the delicate power of liquids that flowed through human veins. A woman who could understand what lay beneath the protective armor of his snarks and his sneers-not softness, never that…but a human being. It was that thought that drove his mind into the arcane store knowledge that was his; he would, with Hermione, brew the most powerful of elixirs, when it came to her awakening. There was a Tantric rite that he knew, one that would unleash all of her passions, magical as well as sexual…

"Yes," he hissed, "I will love you; love you as you deserve, my own sweet siren." With that comment, with the excited flavour of his name bursting from her lips, he released some of the control on his own passions and delved deep into her mouth, tasting her, dominating her, submitting to her. He kissed her as though his very life depended on the touch of her lips.

He was lost to the world as she returned his kiss with equal fervour. His control was pressed further as her hands, those relatively small hands he had once denigrated as being solely attention-seeking devices, began to explore his body. Her fingers reached up, touched his shoulder blade gently before they danced down his torso, where they brushed against the hardening nubs of his own nipples. One finger flicked over the top of his right nipple, and he felt as though a lightening bolt shot through him; electricity flared down his spine and coalesced in his sacks. "Hermione," he groaned in a voice so deep and slow that it made molasses look like a fast flowing river, "Hermione…"

Sweet torture. His lips were still entangled with hers, his desire to possess her mouth unabated, and yet she tortured him with gentle caresses across his chest. Severus was a man torn; he longed to arch his back, to press his chest forward to her mouth, to invite her to nip and nibble at his buds, yet he was loathe to release that sweet mouth. His manhood pulsed; his balls began to ache as the pleasurable bolts of lightening continued. Finally the deep ache in his breasts won out and he released her mouth, but only to ease his body forward until his right nipple brushed against her lip.

"Please…"

Hermione, it appeared, needed no other coaching as her tongue, so recently entangled with his, danced out and flicked across the bud he offered whilst her other hand continuing to minister to the needs of his left nipple. Severus could only moan in pleasure, a deep, vibrating moan as the combined sensation shorted out his higher cognitive functions.

His body shuddered, and he pressed his weight forward wanting more, more touch, more sensation, more subjugation as he surrendered control to her lips, her tongue. He revelled in the feelings as he felt himself hardening further, his erect cock rubbing against her belly, occasionally dipping into and across the well of her navel. Desire built and flamed through his body as he rocked against her, almost trying to meld his body to her, and yet nothing had prepared him for the mind blowing sensory overload that hit when Hermione, ceasing the gentle torture of tonguing his nipple, drew his right bud into her mouth and began to suckle like a babe upon him. Tt wasn't the feelings of a mother for her babe that flooded him; it was pure, unadulterated lust. A lust he intended to sate in a different matter than mere frottage against her stomach.

Any hope to act on that impulse was derailed as Hermione switched her attention to his other nipple. With a strength he hadn't been aware that she even possessed, the girl had pulled him sideways and latched onto the left areola. For a man who prided himself on his iron control, Severus was discovering the hard way that he could be broken; he had withstood the pain of multiple curses, the fire of branding, the breaking of bones, all without once crying out, losing his control…and yet the gentle ministrations of a young woman seemed too much for him to bear.

Later, he would swear it was her teeth, but at that point in time he truly had no idea what it was that sent the last vestiges of his restraint straight to Hades. His areola was being treated to gentle suckling, the sharper pain of teeth-scraping, the swift, soothing stroke of her tongue; under such a fervent assault, the painful pleasure built, and built, and built. When Severus finally thought that he could be driven no higher, Hermione let out a guttural moan. The sound washed over him, vibrated through him, and as she sucked hard once more on his nipple-harder than before-his control broke.

He let forth a scream of pleasure, a keening cry of pain, of delight; her name fell from his lips. He felt his body tighten, his back arched away from her driven by the almost unbearable euphoria that swept over him. His balls contracted, pulsed, spewing forth a fountain of seed onto soft curve of belly that lay beneath him, accepting the needful thrusts of his flesh. He felt a sense of peace settle upon his shoulders as he collapsed onto the girl, then onto the bedding next to her, and without being fully aware of his actions, he cuddled her close as he rode out the storm of sensation.

Severus, sated beyond belief, found himself drifting on a calm sea, softly rising and falling. The sea moved, shifted beneath him, causing a spray of emotions to wash over his face, soaking into him. A slight pressure on his arm finally registered and he opened his eyes to the merest of slits, his gaze resting on the smug woman beside him.

"Hey, no fair falling asleep on the job," she murmured.

"I was not sleeping," he lied, taking a leaf from the book of Messrs. Potter and Weasley, "I was resting my eyes." Still, the comment had rankled. Did the girl not think he was up to the job?

With his gaze still locked on the creamy flesh before him he felt his interest stir again. 'Maybe surviving the odd revel had some use after all,' he mused as his body recovered quickly from its earlier exertions at the sight of her, ready to mount a new attack.

Her comment of, "-I'd rather you were feasting your eyes," had him repressing a smirk. Of course he was going to feast his eyes-and a few other things if he had his way. These pleasant ruminations were interrupted as she continued speaking, "What else do we have to do, to capture my virginity-blood, and Tantrically unleash the rest of my potential?"

"We could also make love somewhere in there," he snarked slightly. Her timetable sounded just a bit too much like a blasted timetable.

It was amazing, Severus though to himself, how the state of a person's demeanour, in this case Hermione's, could be telegraphed by parts of the body not normally associated with communication. He was fairly certain the young minx was currently biting her lip, a habit he'd found rather irritating in the Gryffindor know-it-all but he rather enjoyed in the woman grown. His gaze firmly fixed, enjoy the sight of minute tremors crossing her breasts as she attempted not to laugh at his last comment.

His gaze was redirected by a gentle hand that travelled from shoulder to jaw; she drew his face up and his eyes met hers. "Severus, we will definitely be making love. A lot of love, if I have anything to say about it," she emphasized, smiling beatifically at him.

"Lots," he purred.

"Yes, lots," she agreed. "Later. But I only have one virginity, and-perfectionist that I am-I'd like to get it right on the first try. That does require at least a little foreskin…er," she blushed furiously, charmingly, "I mean, forethought, and planning."

It was the blush that did it; he would later swear to that fact on a stack of 10 potion texts. It was the blush, not a word that she'd said, just the blush. Either way, Severus Snape, the snarky bastard of Hogwarts, finally lost it; it started out as a snicker, low and quiet, but very quickly mutated into a rumbling chortle before setting into a deep, bass laugh… A little foreskin…, he'd show her a little _foreskin!_ Surging up along the line of her body, he captured her lips all the while laughing with an unspoken joy.

"Hermione," he murmured into her mouth, "the one perfect know-it-all virgin."

With her chin lifting away from him momentarily, she gave him a look that could have come from the standard catalogue of 'Snarky Snape'. She even had just the right inflection on the eyebrow. "If I weren't so insistent upon achieving perfection, sirrah, I wouldn't be in bed with you!"

"It would seem, Hermione, that you are again demonstrating the superior judgement that a mind such as yours should be capable of," he said with a smile. "A mind so delightfully packaged," he added with a self-satisfied leer, "is not something I intend to waste."

So saying he brought his lips back to hers and began to demonstrate the virtues of close observation and serious study; in this case the close observation and serious study of one Hermione Granger. Having catalogued her reactions over the past twenty-four hours, he knew how to aurally stimulate her; sending his voice to the lowest of the bass registers he could reach, he began to hum her name as he kissed her.

It seemed he had pitched the tone just right, for she murmured back to him, "God, I love you."

She was using the backs of her fingers to gently stroke the jet strands of his hair from his temple. It only added to his conviction of her words; her touch was gentle, unasked-for but granted anyway, sending shivers though his body, shivers of a type he'd rarely experienced before. If she asked him now to give her the moon, he would. Somehow, he'd manage it. He'd managed to survive the bloody war against all odds, after all.

Leaning into her touch, he closed his eyes and just concentrated on the feeling of being loved-not the love of a parent, something he'd never really experience anyway, but the love of another person, freely given. He'd spoken words of love before to this siren, but they were mere words in comparison to the sheer depths of feeling her touch now awakened. Like the sailors of old, he was caught in the siren's song and he would soon crash on her reefs. "Hermione, let me love you."

Her body moved away from him and for one frightened moment he thought he'd gone too far, telegraphed too much. Then, just as he was about to draw back into the shell of himself, very much like a creature of the sea, he opened his eyes for one last look at Nirvana…and Nirvana looked back. There, lying before him, smiling and relaxed, was the woman who had sung him to the shoals and now not only promised, but revealed a safe harbour in her purring words. "I give myself to you."

"Thank you." He let all his defences down, all shields, all lies, and all layers of protection. He laid his mind naked and open before her, knowing that even without the skill of Legilimency he was now completely vulnerable to the woman before him. Still, for the dance he intended to lead her on, she had to be able to trust him heart and soul. It was a trust that could only come if he were willing to trust her to the same level, and so he left himself open and waited.

Severus held himself still above her, gazing down into amber-brown eyes filled with complete belief in him. This girl, unaware of her own power, healed a wound he'd felt would never heal, and for the first time in his living memory, his heart was whole. Smiling softly to himself, Severus thought of Hermione, the child she had been and the woman he desired; holding the later image firmly in his mind, he began to draw his upon in his own formidable powers, centering himself before he took the first step in the ritual that would end with Hermione finally seen as a woman grown in the eyes of the wizarding world. If his heart had its way, she would be seen as more than woman grown; they'd see a wife. His wife.

The thought was terrifyingly sublime to contemplate.

The bite he had taken earlier had given his power a taste of hers; now it was time to give her powers a taste of his, though at least he wouldn't have to be bitten for that to happen. He suspected the young woman might object to that, but… He knew her power, and he would use that knowledge to craft the vessel that would 'collect' her virgin blood.

"Hermione," he whispered as he leant forward, "let us begin." With that, he placed a kiss upon the very top of her head, a light pulse of power. He felt the first mark, Knowledge, settle. Nuzzling her hair, and breathing in the very scent that was her, he waited patiently, allowing Hermione the chance to integrate Knowledge into her psyche. When the mark took hold, he felt an answering flare in his own Knowledge mark, this time soft and gentle, not like the brutality of his original breaking. There was still a terrible taint upon his own marks, but her power echoed into his like a soft zephyr caressing a storm-ravaged shore.

He moved again, this time to place a kiss upon her temple, the mark of Sight. The pulse of power was deeper this time, more pronounced; the answering flare brighter. The third kiss, the mark of Voice, was the mark that would actually set the tone for the rest of the ceremony: relatively chaste, or erotic. His lips unerringly captured hers; this 'ceremony' was going to be anything but chaste. Gently, teasingly, he kissed until they parted, then with slow, deliberate strokes he thrust his tongue in and out of the soft sweet opening that was her mouth, a foreshadowing of what was to come. He tasted, he drank, and he reintroduced himself to everything that was Hermione Granger and her mouth. Power pulsed and flared between them as Voice took hold.

Enjoying the interplay of their tongues and their power, Severus continued to deepen the kiss, holding onto the sensations for as long as possible; still, the body required air to breathe, and it was only for that reason he ended their kiss. Breathless, but still riding high on power, he nipped and lapped his way down her throat and breast-line until his lips touched the skin above her heart. Whilst Voice set the tone for the ceremony it, was Heart that set the strength. His Heart had been broken by what had happened to him; hers, he would cherish. In doing so, it felt as if the strength of her Heart healed his.

He could literally feel the racing pulse of her heart as it quivered below the lips pressed to her sternum. A soft flutter of power caressed deep within his own chest, as Heart took hold.

The taste of her skin continued to intoxicate him as he grazed his lips down her centre towards her navel; the line of life stretching all the way back to Eve was captured in that small depression. He ran his tongue around the edge of her bellybutton, once, twice, three times before he thrust it into the place that joined Hermione to those before her. Lapping at her like she was a bowl, he committed the depth, feel and shape of her navel to memory as he set the Power mark. Their very existence gave a wizard or witch their powers, and because they reproduced, their magic bestowed itself upon their descendants as well, each one tied to the one before by the umbilical cord of motherhood. For Hermione, this was an even more potent place than it was for him; she had the ability to tie a cord of power between herself and the next generation, something he could only do indirectly as a father…

Moving to set the last two marks, he felt her body trembling beneath him. She parted her knees allowing his body to settle into the cradle of life. These last two marks were the marks of the future, Heat and Life.

The warmth from her groin warmed him, stimulated him, and enthralled him, as he moved to place his mouth over her womb, just below her navel. His chin brushed against the soft curls that marked the start of her mound, the top of his head rested against her belly with the Power mark flaring against his mark of Knowledge; from that touch, Power learnt where Knowledge intended to take them and pulsed its agreement. Suckling at the skin above her womb, Severus began to hum; the music was the incantation of bodily heat: slow, deep, sensual, and pulsing with need, with want, with desire. The sound drew forth the very essence of life's dance; it called to his powers, his need to create, to continue his bloodline, and that power, now freed, began to seep into his core, into his seed.

He felt, rather than saw, Hermione move slightly. Glancing up though hooded eyes he watched as the sound affected her as well; her hands shifted until they cupped her breasts, her fingers gliding out to slide over her nipples. The sight was as sensual as a Titian painting, lush, ripe and full of potential.

Continuing to hum, the sound now supporting the non-verbal incantation, he took his love of potions, the skill, knowledge and desire to create the most magnificent of elixirs and bound that power into himself. Feeding that power into his own seed, he began to make of himself a potion that was ultimate expression of his ability to create. Two ingredients remained: the first he would collect as he set the last mark; the final ingredient would be added as he breached her maidenhead.

Taking a deep breath, one that would allow him to drink deeply at the font, he lowered his head to the folds of her womanhood. His tongue slid between her folds, stopping at her entrance. Here, like with her navel, he let his tongue lick about the edge of the hole, once, twice, three times, before he drew it back into his mouth, savouring the sweet nectar caught upon its surface. Her body move beneath him, her hips arching, presenting her to him, almost begging him to drink deeper; the scent of musk and sweat teased his senses, the heat and damp that rose from her calling forth an almost animalistic desire to feast.

Hermione Granger's body was like an oasis to a man starved of liquid; she tasted sweet, fresh, and clear. He drank his fill, savouring the juices. He tortured her as his nose brushed gently, repeatedly against her clitoris. He loved her as he worshiped her body with his hands. He desired her, and that desire he fed into the silent spells he was weaving as he melded her juices into the potion of his his body, the brew of his loins.

The mark of Life was set.

Crawling up her body, keeping as much of his flesh in contact with hers, Severus had to fight his desire to take her roughly, there and then. Instead he levered himself up slightly. Then frowned as her body rose with him. About to question, he was silenced by a touch, her fingers brushed his lips before her hand slid down to his shoulder. With a strength he hadn't suspected she possessed, she pushed at him, rolling him onto his back before she quickly straddled him. Her fingers again returned to his lips to silence the question forming on his lips.

Grasping her waist, he tried to maneuver her downward, towards his erect penis that ached with need. She surprised him, however, by leaning forward and capturing his face in her hands. A soft smile graced her face as she bent forward and placed a searing kiss atop his head. That kiss caused the mark of Knowledge, set there many years ago by one who sought to use and abuse him, to flare visibly in a sickly green, widening his eyes. It changed under her touch to that of the crisp, clean green of new spring growth. She, too, began to glow, in all of the places where he had poured himself into her, but with a clear, liquid gold untainted by the magic he had infused into her.

He felt her power as it reached into places he'd never even known were damaged, reaching in deep and healing him. It gently washed away the scars of youth, the obscuring cataracts of years spent living a lie, the bitterness of years believing that anything Slytherin was tainted, particularly when compared to the irritating, glowingly clean light of Albus' precious Gryffindors. His eyes, always dark and shaded, looked up in disbelief at her; that she saw something in him worthy of loving in spite of her knowing innocence cleansed him, brightened him. He felt a blackness that had crept into his soul, reflected in his bitter-tainted eyes, finally seeping away. He would not recognise his own eyes when next he saw them, of this he was sure, for the world seemed different, as she gave him the mark of _Vision_.

He lay passive to her touch, letting the healing magics work their way through his soul without resistance; Severus discovered he really did trust her completely.

Recognising that she was caught up within ritual magic-though what ritual, his prodigious knowledge failed to identify, since this was not a part of the rite-of-passage that he knew-he held himself carefully under control as she slid further down his body. He eased his legs apart just as she had earlier, but where he had safely been able to settle into her feminine valley, she was presented with a pointed obstacle to overcome first.

His penis bobbed and swayed as her shapely rear pressed up against it, and then slid over the top of his throbbing crown as she settled her knees between his legs; this action required him to exercise all of his considerable restraint, as he was so tempted to just sheath himself in her depths. 'I should get a second bloody Order of Merlin First Class for this', he thought to himself, before all chance to think was lost in the sensations of her lips upon his heart, under the painfully pure, achingly sweet, cleansing gold fire that burnt through him. His breathing deepened as the meta-physical poisons of the past were washed away under the flood of her very self invading and infusing his willing _Heart_.

Understanding the pattern that she followed, Severus felt his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation. His manhood quivered; he could almost see the incipient verdant energy leaking from his tip as she angled her head to lap at his navel. That inadvertently brushed the soft skin of her cheek against his need. A deep moan escaped his throat as she repeated the ritual kiss to his navel that he had used earlier, wisps of her curls now tantalizing him. The moan deepened further until it was a soundless whimper. Soundless, but visible nonetheless, for his breath highlighted the dancing dust motes in the air with emerald green-with two more chakra-marks to open, he was already glowing from within, thanks to her efforts on behalf of his Power.

He continued screaming in silent, exhaled ecstasy as the young woman moved to mark his seat of procreation. Her lips, warm and welcoming, opened over his testicles. Severus felt her inhale his laden balls into her mouth, tears leaked from his eyes as she rolled his sacs gently over her tongue. Her nose was resting at the very base of him and he could feel soft blows of air from it as she breathed. The elixir he had been creating, held within his sacs, was fed her power with her humming _Heat_, and he took that gift and wove its threads into the silent incantation that he held ready in the back of his thankfully disciplined mind.

Severus stilled as Hermione released his balls, now heavy with their combined magic, from her oral caress. His manhood stood straighter as it waited to be worshipped in the final stage of the ritual. He watched though lidded eyes as she licked her lips before bending, reverently, to take his shaft into her mouth. Those tender, rose-pink lips slid slowly down his length, taking him in deeply. Her nose brushed the hairs that nested about his base. He felt her suckle at him, felt her tease him, yet it was without malice; he felt her love for him and the last vestiges of darkness were banished from his soul as she filled his manhood with the pure magic of _Life_.

Moments before his need became too great, she shifted, sliding up his body until her lips brushed his. She rolled to one side, guiding him until his weight settled eagerly over her. "Husband," she whispered into his mouth, claiming it as he claimed her.

"Wife," he answered as his erect penis nudged gently at her folds.

He could feel the slickness of her entrance, still ready from his ministrations, and his desire mounted. He brought his lips crushing down on hers. Severus eased his length into her opening folds until he rested against the barrier. The vessel was prepared, the ritual almost complete; a final, mental enchantment, and she would be his. Somehow, he knew that he would now also be hers. That thought quickened his heart with exhilaration, not dread.

"Wife," he groaned aloud again as he thrust quickly inward, breaching her maidenhead with one sure stroke. The silent incantation ended at the exact instant he had breached her causing power to flare, bright gold and emerald green; his seed, prepared and ready, spilt forth mixing with the virgin blood that seeped from the broken head.

"-Husband!" she gasped.

Under the ritual's magic, he did not soften, but maintained his erection as he withdrew, almost leaving her body before he thrust back in. Dark amber eyes looked up at him as he repeatedly thrust into the tight tunnel that was Hermione Snape; each time he reached the bottom of his thrust he would twist slightly, rubbing his pubic bone against her hardened nub. He continued to thrust deeply, twisting his hips and grinding his penis at the base of penetration to continue to bring pressure on her clitoris.

He rode her with all the passion locked in his soul. He bent his head forward willingly as she raised her hands to drag his mouth back down to hers. Only too happy to oblige, he let her lead the kiss as he continued their dance. Fire built in his loins again, the need to brand her, to mark her as his and his alone gaining strength; fed in part by the desire he felt flowing from her, the sheer pleasure that was building in her fed itself back into him like an ouroboros.

He knew to the instant when she would leap from the precipice, thanks to the magic glowing figuratively and literally between them; Severus leapt with her; falling, twisting, turning, catching her and being caught by her in turn, he fell spiralling down in a vortex of pure pleasure. Her muscles clamped down upon him, milking him of the second wave of seed that spurted forth, draining him, filling her, and sating both of them.

He cried out, soundless, as the world, the universe, exploded before his inner eye. He could see his seed as it pumped within her, he could see the path it would take, and he could see the past, the present, and the future within her. Companion of his life, mother of his children, there was one perfect word to describe her. Sated, he collapsed on her and whispered, "Wife!" as the last vestiges of ritual-driven vision receded from his eyes; for a moment, he fancied that the last thing he saw with his inner vsion was the birth of a new star.

A chuckle escaped her; it took him sex addled brain a moment or two to track down the cause, at least this time he found he didn't leap to any silly conclusions. When he had said 'wife', she had said 'husband'; they'd both spoken simultaneously. He lifted his head as her chuckle faded; his eyes widened briefly as he noticed their auras flaring again, green and gold intertwined. Where the power should have faded away, he still felt a small warm core of it nestled in his heart, something that felt entirely like Hermione.

He didn't even try to fight the smile of contentment that planted itself on his face; if having this witch beside him meant the snarky git got permanently laid to rest, or at least was firmly made to take a little downtime now and again from his personality-which was more likely, given his temperament-he was not about to complain. Just as he was about to make some hopefully suitable comment, Hermione moved like lightening and kissed him noisily, sloppily, and loudly before trying to make a quick 'get away'.

Fearing he looked shell-shocked, and eternally grateful that the manipulative old coot known as Albus fucking Dumbledore wasn't here to observe, Severus looked down at his newly awakened lover. She looked up at him with a very naughty grin, and and equally cheeky, "Well, that was certainly fun! How soon can we do it again?"

Words were over-rated in this instance. Severus decided to just demonstrate how soon…

Eventually, they had to return to Headquarters; if nothing else, he was getting a little hungry. It had been a long time since he'd gone through similar levels of energy expenditure as he had endured in the past 24 hours: a game of wizarding spin-the-bottle; a power-infused potion; and a surprisingly mutual, Tantric sexual awakening.

Spinning through the Floo at Hermione's side after a somewhat extended discussion on who should go through first-he'd wanted to go through in case Albus was in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place (or at least that's what he told Hermione, though he was rather hoping he'd get the chance to hex someone else, like the prats they'd trapped in the drawing room), she'd argued that she should go first after all the residents at Grimmauld Place were less likely to hex her. In the end, they had gone together, Hermione on his right, as he could hex equally well left- or right-handed.

Spinning through the Floo network with your hand held was a new experience for Severus; one he found he rather enjoyed. The post-landing dizziness forced him to relinquish Hermione's hand. Given the number of people present to witness their return Severus decided he'd rather still be holding Hermione's hand; that way he'd have been able to drag her back into the Floo before anyone noticed them. Of course, fate, as always, wasn't about to co-operate; by the time he'd registered who was there and their positions relative to Hermione and himself (in case a hex or two was required), someone noticed them: Arthur 'normally I'm as dim as a single candle' Weasley.

The patriarch of the Weasley clan looked directly at them both as they emerged from the whirling flames. There was no time to escape. Strangely, Arthur dropped his fork with a look of utter shock. What followed the clattering of his silverware was a 'typical Gryffindor' response; not one wand came out to defend against unannounced attack. No, the fools had to see who could see what had upset Arthur the quickest; heads turned fast enough that one or two cases of whiplash were going to be added to the health bill for the evening's entertainment.

Molly, hands full of food -as they always seemed to be when more that two people gathered-dropped the bowl of whatever it was she was about to serve as she observed the pair; that shattered bowl lay completely ignored at her feet as she demanded incredulously, and almost uncharacteristically, given how she almost never swore, "-What the bloody hell have you two been up to?"

Severus' left eyebrow went skyward; wasn't it ruddy obvious what they'd been doing? He was about to make suitably scathing reply to Molly's stupid question when his hind brain finally managed to kick his forebrain (with much malice and forethought). It wasn't a stupid question, and Molly-who, he noticed, actually seemed to have a slight, not entirely visible glow to her that was resonating with a similar glow around Arthur-wasn't actually enquiring about their physical activities, as such, but what they'd been doing magically. Looking at the younger witch at his side he could see why. Hermione glowed, and his aura resonated with hers; their spring green was different from the Weasleys' rose-lilac, but it glowed just as distinct to his senses.

What the bloody hell?

A quick scan of the room showed only he and Hermione, and Molly and Arthur, actually had any sort of 'aura'; Remus and Tonks, Bill and Fleur, not one of them held a trace of extra magical energy. That ruled out shagging the living daylight out of one another as the cause. Pleasurable though it had been.

'Mine!' sang his hind-brain as he looked at Hermione again, seeing that golden-green glow emanating from her soul. 'Mine, all mine!'

Before he'd had time to fully process the caveman-like possessiveness of his thoughts, Arthur Weasley rose from the table and rather commandingly addressed the others in the room. "-Do excuse us, will you? Molly and I need to have a word with these two."

Molly quickly and efficiently (probably a skill born of years of practice) dealt with the spilt potatoes; they were cleaned, the bowl restored, and the lot dropped in front of her youngest son. Arthur, a pointed look on his face, simply flapped his hands at Hermione and Severus, herding them towards the door into the hall.

Given he'd prefer the following discussion to remain somewhat private, Severus complied with the unspoken order; possibly, it was the first time he'd ever done as Arthur had asked without putting up at least a token resistance. Hermione led the way, obviously (to his eyes anyway) avoiding the front parlour where the games had began; instead, she headed upstairs and unerringly towards the room he normally occupied when staying at Grimmauld Place on Order business. Not a bad choice of location, as he doubted any of the Gryffindors possessed enough courage to beard him in his personal den.

Looking every inch the hostess, Hermione opened the door to 'his' room, and, after stepping inside, held it open graciously, allowing the others to enter. Severus didn't even bother trying to hide the smirk that crossed his features. That the elder Weasleys were put to a blush just added to his silent delight. His delight lasted all of three seconds, as that was how long it took for the Weasley Matriarch to spell-lock his room; the woman even beating Hermione to the cast. It was one of Molly's Imperturbable Charms; no one was going in (or out, a disturbing thought) until she personally released it. He could break it, but that would take time; time he didn't have, given his companions would likely object to such a blatant escape attempt.

Sitting himself down on his bed, he was pleased to note that Hermione joined him there. Once settled, he let the Weasleys have it with both barrels; he quirked his right eyebrow as high as it would go, and asked in a voice dripping with disdain, "You wanted to discuss our mating?"

Arthur suddenly looked like he'd rather be back downstairs; the very 'Gryffindor-ish attack', coming as it did from one of the most Slytherin males around, flustering him. As expected. Unfortunately, Molly was made of sterner material-given that she's survived bringing the twins up, it wasn't all that surprising. Still, Severus would have preferred it if the woman had kept her mouth shut instead of answering him with another question. Questions, after all, were a jiggling red-rag to Hermione's bull.

Molly snapped, loudly, "Yes! Just what do you think you were doing, binding the girl in a bloody Ancient Fertility Rite?"

To which Hermione replied, honestly, and as predicted, "-Actually, we didn't know what we were doing, per se. It just sort of…occurred. But we're very happy with the results, all the same. Now that we've figured out what happened."

"WHAT!" the Weasley matriarch screamed, out-doing a Howler for sheer decibel level, even the one she'd sent her own son. "You didn't know what you were doing? Bloody hell!" Polite language seemed a thing of the past. Severus carefully hid his amusement at the sight of the redheaded Mother Of Them All (the Weasley brats, that was) unhinged a bit at Hermione's revelation. "How could you not know what you were doing? How in Circe' name could _you_," and at this point she skewed Severus with a look, "cast a ruddy mating ritual without knowing what you were doing? I'm surprised at you, Severus Snape for even allowing something like this to happen!"

Severus sat silent through the category 5 aural, storm thinking about all the times in his life where he'd watched others somehow or other manage complex magics, without the least idea of what they were doing, or how, and yet also managed to come up smelling of roses. It had always frustrated him, and given her sons had managed more than their fair share of complex magics in that way; because of this, he felt perfectly justified taking a leaf out of George Weasley's book. Now, if only she'd stop gusting long enough for him to use it…

Arthur reasserted the marital reins saying, "Give them a bloody chance to breathe, let alone reply!"

Taking advantage of the eye of Mrs. Molly Hurricane, Severus just smiled and said, "Oops."

"It was just supposed to be an awakening ritual," Hermione interjected before Molly had a chance to reply to his rather deliberate attempt to provoke the woman.

Hermione continued, her tone gaining strength, "Mine, to be precise-yes, Molly, I was a virgin, but it was entirely our idea, as in a mutually-made decision, with no bloody coercion about the matter-and so help me, if you try to make Severus' life miserable over this, I will hex you where the sun doesn't shine!"

'Merlin, she's magnificent', Silently silently exalted as she paused for breath. His mate was more than capable of taking on even Molly Weasley the humanoid hurricane. He was proud of how strong-willed she was. Moving his hand to cover hers, his first real, deliberate show of support since the entire farce began, he squeezed her fingers lightly. Hopefully he managed to convey that fact that'd he stop trying to provoke their unexpected companions, and that he'd let her deal with them. Miracles didn't happen overnight, and Slytherin scales didn't turn all soft and fluffy, but he'd keep his 'snark' under control whilst they sorted things out. Even if that meant leaving off on the Gryffindor-baiting, amusing though it was.

"Anyway, I simply returned the favour, since his own awakening-" his hand squeezed hers tightly in warning, "-was less than ideal," she finished quietly. "And that's when it started happening, whatever it was that finished the whole thing, and made us…mates…for lack of a better term. Now, since the two of you obviously know more about this than we do, why don't you explain what you know, Arthur?"

Arthur glanced at his wife before he drew a deep breath, and began explaining. "Well, you see…we ran across this spell, ages ago-back when we were dating-that permitted… well… it sort of…" The man was going as red as his hair Severus noted.

"It was a fertility rite we found in an ancient textbook," Molly cut across her husband's ramblings, "dating from before the founding of Hogwarts."

"Hush, dear; I'm telling this," Arthur said as he patted his wife's hand.

"Well, then, get on with it!" the Weasley matriarch snapped back.

"Right."

Severus remembered once watching a Muggle tennis match, admittedly only because it was the target of the current Death Eater raid; Arthur and Molly's conversation reminded him of that little ball…back and forth, lob and volley. Any inclination to snicker, however, was cut short by Arthur's next comment; delivered whilst staring firmly Severus.

"It can only be activated by couples who are compatible…and who love each other very deeply, as love is what empowers the magic that is used."

"-Basically, fumbling around as you did, the two of you got yourselves married like a couple of Pictish heathens," Molly summarized unhelpfully.

"And the, erm, entire point of the rite, aside from a primitive form of marriage," Arthur hedged, "is, well…ensuring fertility in a couple. Which, as you can see from our own, erm, success…"

Children. Multiple children. Many multiple children. He was going to be a father, and not just once, probably not even only twice. He was looking at the possibility of a Quidditch team, perhaps even with emergency relief players. And he liked the idea…

'Slytherin will reign supreme for an eternity', he thought for one brief, insane moment. Ok, the conceiving part was always going to be fun-his manhood literally jumped at the idea of prolonged, and repeated, energy expenditure in that particular endeavour-but what worried him was the idea that he liked the idea of children.

Clearly, he was in shock.

Arthur, apparently aware that both he and Hermione were shock-numbed, continued explaining. "From this point forward, the two of you will only cleave to each other. You won't want to be with anyone else, and you won't want your mate to be with anyone else, either. For your own sake, for the legality of it, and for keeping the others off your back…the two of you are going to have to get married. And the sooner the better. I won't have you trying to hex my youngest son's balls off, just for looking at Hermione the wrong way!"

"Arthur!" Molly chided him.

"Given that your son has given me more than enough cause in the past to want to hex his balls off, I'm fairly certain I will be able resist the impulse in the future," Severus stated blandly, slowly getting over his shock.

"Well… Watch your language," the older witch scolded quietly.

"Sorry, Molly, but they've got to know," Arthur protested, before returning his attention to the couple across from him. "The Ministry doesn't recognize the fertility rite as a legal marriage, either. You'll need to go through a proper Anglican one, though I can at least help to waive the banns and get you a special license, if you like. I've got some pull in the Licensing Department."

Pull in the Licensing Department; of course Arthur would have some 'pull' in that department, but… It was here that Severus' Slytherin side came to the fore. Yes, they could waive the calling of the Banns and get married hurriedly like a couple from those trashy regency novels he often had to confiscate from the Muggle born 6th and 7th years. Or they could do things properly. He decided on properly. Properly, with all the attendant ceremony; that it would rub the Boy-Who-Was-A-Pain's face in the fact that Hermione Jane Granger would be formally and legally his beloved wife was just a nice bonus.

Sliding gracefully off the bed, Severus knelt on the floor in front of Hermione and took her hands in his. Lifting them to his lips, he bent his head down to kiss her knuckles, all the while maintaining eye contact, "Hermione Jane Snape, would you do me the honour of accepting my lonely hand, my tarnished heart, and my battered soul as your own? Would you marry me and be my wife?"

He couldn't help the small frown that escaped as Hermione replied, a little too flippantly but with a warm smile, "More than all the world, Severus Sebastian Granger." The frown quickly vacated the premises, though, as she continued, "Because I do love you, and I would be greatly honoured to be Mrs. Snape."

Whatever they had done, it seemed that one of the side effect was a slightly heightened awareness of each other and some of their surface thoughts. O at least that's what he hoped, as he caught a fleeting image of 'Mine' scrawled across his backside. Surely such an idea couldn't be entirely his own. Hermione's eyes sparkled with gentle mirth and her lips quivered with unspoken delight. All this spoke to Severus of silly thoughts and he was tempted to try Legilimency to find out just what amused her so; doing so, however, was an abuse of trust he wasn't about to entertain. Not without her permission, and he wasn't about to ask in front of the Weasleys.

As he turned his head slightly to skewer Arthur with 'the look', Severus allowed one eyebrow to quirk upwards in question at Hermione before he informed the Weasley Patriarch that there would be no need to waive the calling of the Banns.

"You, Arthur, may have married in haste," he said pointedly remembering tales of a rushed wedding often alluded to by other Order members whenever Bill Weasley's age came up, "but I see no need to subject Hermione to that sort of 'speculation'." He would enjoy the consternation of the entire Gryffindor house, as they played out the time honoured tunes of a traditional Wizarding Wedding. Just the sort of Wedding present to warm the cockles of his heart, watching the Boy Who Irritated To No End forced to give him the traditional toast of marital bliss. Hermione would no doubt want him to stand in as Brother Of The Bride, given how she was a single child.

Enjoying the quiet contemplation of House Gryffindors' horror, Severus almost missed spotting the grim set of Mrs. Weasley's mouth, but her words quickly penetrated his haze of self-congratulations. "You are a beak-nosed fool, Severus Snape-obviously, you cannot see past the end of it!" the woman snapped as she waved one hand in front of his nose. "You mated each other in a fertility rite! She's already up the duff!"

'_Shite_,' Severus thought as he felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn't the only one shocked by Molly's words however as Hermione touched her stomach saying, "But, I don't feel anything!"

"You will in about seven days," the older witch asserted smugly. "You'll feel a flutter when the embryo implants itself in your uteral lining." Severus wondered if he could get away with a small hex or three, given Molly's infernally self-righteous tone; given the woman had survived the twins' antics, however, it probably wasn't advisable.

It was Arthur who maintained an aura of calm, stating blandly, "And I wouldn't advise any potions or hexes to terminate it, either. Those fertility rites are awfully potent."

"Why?" Severus asked warily, eyes narrowing as he studied the other wizard. "What could possibly happen?" he asked whilst his primitive hind-brain tried to block its ears and shout 'lalalalalalalalala' at him.

"Twins." The blunt answer was a succinct horror to Arthur's audience. "We wanted to stop after Percy, and when we tried…it didn't terminate the embryo; it just split it in twain!"

Severus tried to think rationally in the face of such a bald statement, _tried_ being to operative word.

"Twins?" he heard himself squeak in a tone not unlike Neville Longbottom. 'Oh how the mighty have fallen', he though sardonically to himself. Twins. Two children. Two children at once. Two children, who would likely inherit both his and Hermione's innate brilliance, and were likely to give the Weasley Twins a run for their money in sheer mischief level-Slytherin cunning mated to Gryffindor enthusiasm? Severus, who had faced down Voldemort and lived to tell the tale, did what any sensible man faced with such thoughts would do.

He fainted.

Sweet summer wine, a gentle breeze blowing soft across his face, a hard unyielding beach… Severus woke with a start, his pleasant dream of white sandy beaches and a bikini-clad Hermione's receding in the face of the hard woollen carpet that was scratching at his back. "Hermione?" he asked, unsure of his welcome, given her definitely less than virginal state, mixed with the prospect of her bearing a Quidditch team or two.

She smiled one of her brilliant smiles at him, "Yes, Severus?"

Maybe things weren't as dire as he expected.

"Molly is going to milk this for all its worth, isn't she?" he asked his fiancé with a lop-sided, uncertain grin. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned the speed with which she and Arthur originally wed," he continued, half-muttering to himself. "I suppose we've been ordered to present ourselves downstairs at the soonest possible moment?"

She nodded, and opened her mouth to speak.

With all the speed of a cobra-and the cunning of a Slytherin-he struck.

"Soonest possible moment," he scoffed as his hands caught at the back of her head and began to pull her face back towards his. "I have better things to do than face a firing squad…"

At which point Severus proceeded to demonstrate, fully and completely, that he did indeed have better things to do.


End file.
